Non Tangunt Et Amant
by the classicist
Summary: When confirmed old maid Ruth Evershed meets Sir Henry Pearce, a baronet engaged in secret work for the War Office, sparks are sure to fly. But in the strict society of Regency England, will this most unlikely of couples ever manage to find happiness?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hi! Here is the first chapter of the promised Regency fic. It isn't all written yet, and updates might be slow at first while I find my way around this. Hope you enjoy...**

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><p><strong>London, 15<strong>**th**** April in the year of our Lord 1812**

"Dearest Auntie!" was the cry that flew from Miss Elizabeth Bailey's lips as she burst into the library with most unladylike haste. Her Aunt Ruth rose from the table, where she had been engaged in a book of some sort, her lips slightly parted in alarm, only to be enveloped in a tight embrace. Beth squeezed her shoulders and then released her, blue eyes brimming with happiness. "Aunt Ruth, Captain Levendis has just left!"

Her aunt raised a cultured dark brow, surprised that such intelligence could have drawn anything but severe disappointment from her sixteen-year-old niece, and murmured, "I wasn't aware Captain Levendis had even called, Beth." Her niece huffed impatiently and nodded, blonde curls bouncing as she did so. "Yes! He was here for an hour, and more, and what do you think has happened, aunt?" Characteristically, Miss Bailey made no attempt to allow her aunt time to answer, but rushed on with her news. "He has made me an offer! And I have accepted!" Ruth's eyes widened in surprise and delight. Dimitri Levendis had been introduced to Elizabeth a year ago, at the first _ton_ party of Beth's first season, and the pair had slowly formed a deep attachment. Ruth had noted the army officer's growing love for her niece with quiet approval - while her brother had noted, less quietly, the competent fortune left to Captain Levendis by his Greek mother upon her death three years ago - but even she could not have predicted that an offer would come so soon.

"That is indeed wonderful news," she smiled softly, reseating herself at the small round parlour table. Elizabeth twirled herself around giddily, the pale blue skirts of her morning gown swirling around her legs, and laughed. "Oh, Aunt Ruth, you're always so very staid. 'Wonderful news?' We shall be the happiest of couples – it has all been decided upon. A July wedding, at St. George's Chapel, before Dimitri must rejoin his regiment in the Peninsular." Ruth's brow furrowed disapprovingly at the mention of Spain. Captain Levendis' profession was all that could make her wish her niece's attachment to him less profound. A life following the drum in the Peninsular was not one she had ever coveted for Elizabeth, and nor did she derive much pleasure from the thought of all the potentially mortal injuries that were attendant on such a man as Dimitri Levendis, with his captaincy in an infantry regiment that saw regular action.

Elizabeth looked down upon her, her own smile fading for a moment, as she recognised the expression upon her aunt's countenance. "You mustn't worry about me, Auntie," she murmured reassuringly. "I cannot be quite easy until I know I have your approval. I believe I will like being a soldier's wife above all things! Even a ball at Almacks'." _That_ surprised a laugh from Ruth, who nodded and folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Then I suppose," she replied wryly, "I must give my consent. Although, it is your father's approval that really matters, Beth." Her niece flapped her hand impatiently. "Fustian!" she snorted rudely, eliciting a strong glare of disapproval from her aunt. "All Papa cares about are his books and papers. He gave his consent as soon as Dimitri asked. Everyone knows that _you_ are my real guardian."

Her aunt considered this for a moment. It was in part true, of course. Elizabeth's Mama had been Ruth's sister, Miss Susannah Evershed, before her marriage and early death just a few days after Elizabeth's birth. Ruth, the spinster sister unwanted by her widowed, and then remarried, mother, had leaped at the chance to move into her brother-in-law's home and take charge of his four rowdy children, dealing with Elizabeth's older brothers as well as with Beth herself. A bluestocking by choice rather than necessity, Miss Evershed had had no qualms regarding undertaking the education of her niece, although the boys had all followed their father to Eton, and later to Cambridge. Ruth recalled feeling a little less than happy about this arrangement – after all, her own father had attended Harrow and Oxford, and had later become a highly respected London physician until his death, from a combination of ill-health and a wife who had no control over her purse-strings or her rather lashing tongue, when Ruth had been just eleven years old.

Shaking off these unpleasant reminiscences, Ruth inclined her head, submitting to Elizabeth's rather accurate appraisal of their circumstances, but whatever she was about to say in reply was drowned out by the sound of the grandfather clock in the hall striking the hour. Changing her mind, Ruth reminded her niece, "You had better go upstairs and change, Elizabeth. We are due to call at Lady Radford's in an hour."

Elizabeth, eyes still alive with the delight of her betrothal, did not even linger to complain about the inconvenience of calling on elderly widows, as she would usually have done. With an obedience both endearing and childlike, she ran from the room. Miss Ruth Evershed watched her niece go and gave the grey cat resting by the library fire a wistful smile. "Oh, Fidget," she whispered, shaking her head. "I had hoped I would not lose her so soon..." After all, with Beth married, and her brothers well past the age where feminine care was at all necessary, Ruth would once again become superfluous, a hanger-on in another's home, a dependent – in short, the very thing that she had once sworn to herself she would never become. She gave a short, bitter chuckle. "I suppose there's always governessing," she addressed the cat again. "Or being a lady's companion." The cat yawned and Ruth shook her head, passing a weary hand over her eyes. "Or perhaps I shall find some kind clergyman in need of a housekeeper, who is willing to marry for the privilege," she announced. Fidget yawned again and trotted over to rub himself comfortingly against her legs. None of the options, Ruth had to admit, sounded particularly appealing.

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><p>"Miss Evershed and Miss Bailey, ma'am," announced Berry, Lady Radford's indefatigable butler, as the two ladies crossed the threshold into her ladyship's morning room. A tall neat man with greying hair, Berry gave the impression (as all good servants must) that, were the Devil himself to knock upon the door, he would merely ask for the gentleman's name and take his coat. His mistress was likewise unflappable, a woman of medium height whose subtly elegant mode of dress and expression made her appear far taller than she actually was. Lady Connie Radford (nee James) was renowned for being closely acquainted with all the patronesses of Almacks', and permission to call upon her ladyship was accordingly almost as highly prized as vouchers for that esteemed establishment. New debutantes found her at once terrifying and awe-inspiring, established bachelors even more so. But she greeted her visitors with all the ease of an old friend, kissing Ruth's cheek and commenting, in her refined way, that Beth looked very much in bloom, as her ladyship's other guests rose to curtsey to the new arrivals. For old friend she was, to Ruth at least, being the only other person who remembered her dear departed papa with any degree of affection, Lady Radford having been his mother's oldest and dearest friend. She was also, through her father's influence, Ruth's godmother.<p>

The three women sat and talked for a few moments upon inconsequential matters, before Lady Radford stated, as was her wont, "I'm sure Elizabeth would much rather be conversing with her young friends than with us, Ruth dear." Beth protested, and, at a nod from Ruth, escaped. Then, drawing her chair a little closer to Ruth's, on the pretext of retrieving her embroidery from a table, Lady Radford commented quietly, "I understand Captain Levendis has made Elizabeth an offer." Ruth showed no sign of surprise at her companion's apparently preternatural knowledge of something which had occurred so recently, and merely glanced around to ascertain whether any of the other ladies had overheard. Lady Radford was renowned for being the person in London with the most awareness of these matters, after all, so why should Ruth, who had been acquainted with her since childhood, be surprised? Satisfied that the room's other occupants were far too engrossed in their various conversations to have been paying any attention, she nodded. "He called upon my brother-in-law this morning and asked for his permission. Of course, Elizabeth has accepted." Her voice shook as she completed her sentence, and Lady Radford, dragon though she was, laid a comforting hand upon her arm.

"You are disappointed." It was not a question. Ruth bit her lip, wondering how to explain her feelings. At last, she smiled wryly at her old friend.

"Not with the man," she countered quietly. "I like the Captain very much, and he is just the man I always planned for Elizabeth to marry." Ruth paused. Lady Radford set a stitch in her embroidery. "But?" she prodded, when Ruth did not immediately continue. Ruth twisted her hands in her lap, a habit her mother had always detested as being evidence of a weak, graceless character, and eventually explained, "His profession worries me. Elizabeth is very young, and she does not yet seem to have grasped the implications of marrying an army officer. The separations, the worry, the possibility of some accident… I do not want her to get hurt." Lady Radford inclined her head, accepting Ruth's words calmly. Her needle worked away swiftly for several moments, before she replied. "Perhaps he will sell out, now that he is betrothed. The word about town is that his mother left him enough of a fortune to allow for him settling down."

Ruth shook her head. "He has mentioned nothing of it to Elizabeth, if that is the case. Indeed, she expects him to rejoin his regiment after the wedding, taking her with him." Her face creased into a deep frown of anxiety. "I know the dangers of a military career, ma'am. Elizabeth sees the honour and the glory of it all, and forgets the less palatable aspects. She is a mere child, after all."

Lady Radford glanced towards Ruth's niece, buried in a circle with two friends, avidly discussing a hat one of the girls had purchased from her modiste earlier that week. "You could speak to Edward. Permissions for betrothals have been retracted before now, I believe, some of them many months after the event. No announcement has been made." Ruth sat up straight and cast a scandalised look at her ladyship.

"Impossible!" she ejaculated insistently. "Edward would never agree, and Elizabeth would never forgive me for making the attempt. But I cannot help feeling that I should put her on her guard. God willing, she will not suffer by his career, but - " Ruth forced herself to stop speaking. Her face closed up and she lowered her eyes. Clearly the conversation had strayed into dangerous territory. Softly, Lady Radford reminded her, "Captain Levendis can hardly be compared to Peter, my dear." Her goddaughter's head shot up in distress and she briefly closed her eyes against painful recollections.

Her brother, Peter, a naval officer, had been killed at Trafalgar nine years ago - an honourable death by anyone's standards. But Ruth had been there when Edward, acting for her mother, had received a visit from one of Peter's fellow officers. She had insisted, with what her brother-in-law had later described as shocking wilfulness, to remain and hear the manner in which her beloved brother had died, and Ruth could only blame herself for hearing a tale not to her liking. Lieutenant Evershed had imbibed rather too much wine at table the night before the battle, and had thus been rather the worse for wear the next morning. With only half his wits available, Peter had not been able to command his men, or throw himself out of the way when a round-shot had hit the ship on which he was serving, killing him and five others. Five other good sailors, who had only been within harm's way in a foolish attempt to save their officer from certain death. Ruth had cried, of course, and then she had locked Peter away in her memory, avoiding the mention of his name wherever possible. Edward had kept his brother-in-law's disgrace secret, for the sake of his wife, and her sister, whom he would have rather married, and no one else, except Lady Radford (involved as she was in all the family's nearest concerns), could understand why Miss Evershed was always so reluctant to speak of her naval hero brother.

With a sigh, she returned to the present. "You are right, of course. I'm a foolish old spinster, who worries far too much," she concluded, forcing a tight smile. Now it was Lady Radford's turn to frown. She uttered an impatient noise and tapped her fingers impatiently on the arm of her stern wooden chair. "_That_," she scowled, highly irritated, "is utter nonsense, and I won't have such words spoken about you in my house, Ruth. No one could accuse you of being foolish - your poor dear papa prevented that. As for being an old spinster, you are six and thirty years old. I have known far plainer women than you be married at a far more advanced age, my dear." Ruth smiled indulgently at her godmother's partiality, and reminded her, with her customary pragmatism, "And all those women had far greater fortunes than I have, ma'am. I have no hope or expectation of marrying - or marrying in the manner I would like to, at any rate - so I must content myself with remaining as I am. I shall leave Edward's house, of course." Remaining under the same roof, alone, with the man she had refused to marry on several occasions before his betrothal to her sister, was undoubtedly impossible. Her duty to her dead sister had brought her to Upper Wimpole Street sixteen years ago - a finer feeling than reluctance to see Edward, and a more worthy one.

Lady Radford clucked her tongue impatiently at her goddaughter's fastidiousness; to her mind, Edward Bailey owed his sister-in-law far more than the meagre thanks she had thus far received. "Where will you go, my dear? To your mother's house?" Involuntarily, Ruth shuddered. She had never shared so much as a scrap of fellow feeling with her mother, and her mother's dislike of her middle, shyest child had only increased with the death of Ruth's father, the husband to whom she had been so indifferent. Ruth had been banished to a detestable boarding school in Bath, with only nine-year-old Susannah and her father's much loved copy of Homer's _Odyssey_ for company, there to remain for the next five years, learning to play the pianoforte (badly), dance (even worse) and sew (only just well enough to be able to make many of her own gowns), while her mother found herself a rich husband, and Peter was left to shift for himself in the navy. The only bright points in this period of her life had been the holidays, always taken with Lady Radford, whose late husband had seen and nurtured the spark of intellectual fire, ignited by her father, in his wife's elder goddaughter, educating her in Latin, Greek, history, mathematics and science - as much for his own amusement as for Ruth's improvement. A few London seasons had followed, again under Lady Radford's influential wing (by this point, Ruth's mother had all but forgotten her two daughters), Susannah's marriage to a man who had first proposed to, and been declined by, her elder sister, and a calm, if melancholy, existence in a corner of her stepfather's house, until Susannah's untimely death, a year after Elizabeth's birth, and her call, as maiden aunt, to the aid of her sister's four motherless children.

"No," Ruth replied firmly. "I shall advertise as a governess, or a lady's companion, and live very quietly and usefully, and not be a burden. It is what I always planned to do, after all. It was merely delayed, while the children were growing up, not put off forever, ma'am." She tried to smile, and failed miserably. Lady Radford's hand twitched towards her smelling-salts at the mere thought of her dearest goddaughter entering such a life of servitude and drudgery. Governesses and companions were little better than domestic servants, after all - why, Ruth might just as well become a scullery maid! "Impossible!" she stated, equally firmly, echoing Ruth's cry of a few minutes ago. "My dear Ruth, your father would turn in his grave were you to enter such a profession!" Ruth closed her eyes - her father was another family member of whom she could not speak without pain - and reminded her godmother wanly, "Papa would turn in his grave to know that I had become dependent on Edward, or any of the family. He gave me the gift of independent thought, dear ma'am, and it would be an insult to him if I did not use it." Ruth was usually so self-possessed that few people who saw her briefly would have given her credit for such decided opinions. But anyone who took the trouble to speak to her for a few moments saw quick wit and a keen sense of humour in her bright blue eyes, and more than a touch of dignity and elegance in her posture. Such a woman was not to be argued with by any mere mortal. But Lady Radford was a dragon.

"I find myself rather lonely for much of the time, Ruth," she began, after a moment's pause in which Ruth flattered herself that she had won this particular battle. "Perhaps I shall advertise for a companion." Her goddaughter refused to take the offer that was being obliquely made.

"This is a conversation for another day," she murmured, in a conciliatory voice, sensing the movement of several skirts behind her. Lady Radford sighed, but rose too. "Very well. But, my dear, you must be sure of my support, as always. I only wish that you will postpone this plan of yours until after Christmas, perhaps, and make your home with me until then." Her goddaughter flashed her a grateful smile, and pressed her hand in the way she had done since childhood. She did not, however, choose to answer her godmother's last words, merely saying in sincere accents, "Truly, ma'am, I shall never be equal to finding the words to thank you for all you have done for me."

Lady Radford's drawing room emptied quickly, once everyone had taken their leave, and her ladyship was, at last, at liberty to sit down and think. Ruth's plan was, of course, impossible. Lady Radford was one of the enlightened few who shared Mrs. Wollstonecraft's ideas on the education and value of women, and felt sure that, in some future age, it would be an unremarkable occurrence for a young lady to be educated in the same style as a young gentleman, and even for her to go to one of the universities, but for now that was impossible. She pursed her lips tightly at the highly irksome thought that the only avenue open to one such as Ruth, with her intelligence and other remarkable qualities, who had eschewed marrying the first, and only, man who had made her an offer, was a life of drudgery as either a governess or a lady's companion. If only something could be _done_ about it all. Grimly, Lady Radford seated herself at her writing desk, and pulled a sheet of letter paper and a pen towards her. Something _had_ _to be_ done.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks for all your reviews, and here's the next part of the story...**

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><p>Miss Evershed seated herself gratefully at the dinner table, thanking the Lord that they had no dinner engagements to attend that evening. The day had been spent in helping Beth to receive continuous calls of congratulation, which had been punctually paid by most of their large acquaintance, the notice of the engagement having appeared in the <em>Post<em> of that morning. Elizabeth had been glowing throughout, and, had she needed it, Captain Levendis had called for a full hour to lend his betrothed the support and care that her aunt, rather than herself, was wanting.

Ruth's feelings about the engagement had been oscillating between joy for Beth - tempered by her trifling concerns regarding the match - and her own unconquerable feelings of self-pity. Despite Edward's reserve and occasional gruffness, and the foibles and difficulties attached to raising four children, three of them boys, Ruth realised that she had been happy for the past sixteen years. In any case, she had had very little time for unhappiness, although low spirits had sometimes crept in. Now, all was at an end. Marriage was impossible, no matter how much Lady Radford coveted the long-held dream of seeing her goddaughter comfortable settled. Employment would have to be found, and quickly. She could not expect Edward to tolerate her presence in his household for any longer than it took to see Elizabeth joined in matrimony to her handsome Captain.

The meal was eaten in silence, Ruth too weary, Beth too much engaged in daydreams about her fiancee, and Edward simply too unwilling, to make conversation. At last, it was over. Beth rose, glancing expectantly at her aunt, but Ruth remained seated. "If I might speak with you for a moment, Edward?" she asked lightly. Her brother-in-law glanced up in surprise, and after a moment of silence, nodded his assent. Leaning back in his chair, a habit Ruth had always inexplicably detested in him, he addressed Beth with, "Excuse us, Elizabeth. We shall join you presently." His daughter left the room quietly, wondering if she could practice the pianoforte in such a way as to allow her to listen surreptitiously to whatever conversation was being held in the dining room.

Ruth nervously clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap. This was the first time she had ever requested a private interview with her brother-in-law. Indeed, it was one of the few times that they had been alone together, since that ill-fated day when he had misguidedly asked for her hand. _"Miss Evershed, I would be honoured if you would consent to make me the happiest of men and become my wife."_

"_Forgive me, sir, I cannot accept your proposals."_

"_Ma'am - "_

"_To marry you would be impossible. I am unable to return your affection. I can express myself in no clearer terms. I have done you the courtesy of speaking my mind honestly, and I would beg that you do me the courtesy of accepting what I say."_

The words seemed to reverberate around the room from twenty years ago.

"I gather you wish to speak to me about Elizabeth," Edward began coolly.

She nodded. "In a manner of speaking." He sipped his glass of port thoughtfully, waiting for his self-possessed assistant of so many years to frame her next sentence. It was ironic that, having wished for her to be his companion and helpmeet and the sharer of his home all those years ago, he had been discomforted and even sometimes irked by her presence as his sister after the death of the woman he had eventually married. Slowly, Ruth spoke. "Once Elizabeth is married, I can have no reason to remain here. You, I assume, will be glad to be relieved of my company?"

His eyes widened. "Forgive me," he murmured courteously, "if I have ever given you the idea of ingratitude or displeasure on my part. It was most certainly not intended." She smiled kindly at him, and smoothed a fold in her satin gown.

"You have never been displeased or ungrateful," she reassured him. "Even when you had reason to be." The meaning of her afterthought was not lost on him, but he maintained his silence. Again, she paused before speaking. "I will leave your house once Elizabeth is settled. I plan to gain employment, as a governess, or a companion. I thought that this ought to be made clear to you, so that you can… make arrangements, for after the wedding."

Edward swallowed and drained his glass. "Thank you for informing me of your intentions. Your honesty does you credit."

She rose. "I have always been honest with you, Edward." At the door, she turned back. "I would appreciate your secrecy in this matter. I will inform Beth of my plans when I see fit. She does not require my ill tidings at present." Her brother-in-law bowed his head in silent acquiescence and poured himself another glass of port. Ruth hesitated on the threshold of the dining room, waiting for him to follow her, until Edward looked at her again. He smiled stiffly at her, the first smile in twenty years. "I shall be in directly, Ruth."

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><p>"Mrs Rosalind North, ma'am." Yates, the Bailey's butler, was well used to this visitor, as was Miss Evershed, who rose to greet her. Her tall, blonde visitor swept in neatly, a vision in an afternoon gown of cream silk, which quite put to shame Ruth's own dark blue kerseymere gown. She regarded Ruth with a critical eye, before accepting the outstretched hand and returning the curtsey which had been promptly given. "You look far too pale," she greeted Ruth bluntly. "That niece of yours is taking up far too much of your time and energy, Ruth." The two women had been fellow inmates at the same boarding school for several of their formative years, and Rosalind, icily intrusive at the best of times, took this as permission to criticise or give her blessing to whatever Ruth did.<p>

"Thank you, Rosalind," Ruth replied wryly, well used to the nuances of her old acquaintance. 'Friend' had never seemed an appropriate word to use to describe Mrs North. Perhaps the knowledge that she was a branch on one of the richest, most prosperous family trees in England had given Rosalind her almost arrogant self-confidence and ability to ruthlessly administer a set-down to anyone who did not meet with her exacting standards of wit, elegance or birth. Ruth had always counted herself fortunate that she herself did. The two women sat.

"I imagine I should offer my congratulations to Miss Bailey," she offered at last. Ruth's mouth twitched up. She knew all too well Rosalind's opinion of Beth, first expressed on Elizabeth's arrival in town last year, and repeated at regular intervals since then: _"Vain, silly, forward and thoughtless. Her only saving grace is having her mother's beauty and your protection." _

"Beth is not at home at present. She has gone driving with Captain Levendis and his aunt. I expect her to return for luncheon, however." Rosalind sniffed, her disapproval clear. Ruth could not understand what Major Lucas North, her husband, whose severe wounds at the Battle of Albuera last year had forced him to take a desk position in the War Office, had ever found in Rosalind's decidedly uninviting manner to compel him to pursue her for three years before their eventual marriage. _The challenge, perhaps_, she mused. Rosalind pursed her lips, and confided, "I imagined Dimitri Levendis to have a great deal of good sense. Clearly I was mistaken. You should be pleased, Ruth - Miss Bailey has been very lucky to attach such a man to the point of matrimony. But then, I suppose stranger things have happened on the Marriage Mart."

Ruth frowned. Rosalind always said exactly what she thought about everyone. If anyone else in the _ton_ said such things, about such people, they would risk being ostracised. But then, Rosalind was the sort of person who gave, rather than received, social wounds. "That is unfair," she cautioned Rosalind. "Elizabeth has many good qualities, and it is not at all surprising that she should have formed an attachment with such a worthy man as Captain Levendis."

Rosalind shook herself disagreeably. "I did not call to quarrel with you about your niece. I came to invite you to a small dinner on Wednesday evening, for some old military acquaintances of my husband. Lady Radford has agreed to attend, and Captain Levendis and his sister. I would be delighted if you would attend, and you may bring Miss Bailey and her father too, if you wish." The manner in which the invitation was given caused Ruth's smile to widen. "We are not engaged on Wednesday evening - I would be glad to come, Rosalind."

"Good," she replied briskly, rising to take her leave. "I'm sure it will do you good, Ruth."

Even three hours later, when Beth returned, flushed and happy, from her ride, Ruth was still unsure as to exactly what this parting shot had meant.

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><p><strong>AN: Next time, the appearance of Harry...<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: As promised, the entrance of Sir Henry Pearce...**

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><p>Elizabeth's father declined his share of Rosalind's invitation, and his daughter would have followed suit had Ruth not strategically mentioned the certain presence of Captain Levendis. Thus an imminent refusal was transformed into an immediate acceptance, and arrangements were made for the carriage to convey Miss Evershed and Miss Bailey to Major North's house on Wednesday evening and safely return them home to Upper Wimpole Street later that evening.<p>

Therefore, at half-past seven on Wednesday evening, the Baileys' chaise drew up outside Major North's handsome Curzon Street residence, paid for by his wife's handsome fortune. Ruth and Elizabeth disembarked, the latter in a gown of white crepe, recently arrived from the shop of her fashionable modiste in Conduit Street, and the former in pale green muslin made by her own fair hands. A footman elegantly attired in tasteful livery admitted them to the house and led them into the drawing room, where the guests were conversing prior to dinner. Major North was engaged in conversation with his wife and two gentlemen, but immediately broke off to cheerfully greet his recently arrived guests. "Miss Evershed, Miss Bailey, good evening!" Tall, handsome and decidedly the man of fashion, Rosalind's husband was so much her opposite that anyone who had never seen him in the company of his wife might have suspected him of marrying her merely for obtaining the convenience of the thirty thousand pounds which was her fortune. Ruth, however, knew better - there was love, companionship and trust in this match, even if it was moderated by the clash of two fierce tempers.

The Major led them towards his wife and their two guests, while Elizabeth looked longingly over at Captain Levendis. Unfortunately he had been a moment too late in rising to greet her, and had now to endure the conversation of his sister and her own fiancee until Beth's release from her aunt and hosts. "Might I introduce Captain Adam Carter and Sir Henry Pearce?" Lucas began, formally indicating each of his guests with a wave of his hand. Captain Carter looked to be of an age with Major North, blonde and well-built with the friendly, open appearance of a man at home in fashionable society. Sir Henry was older by perhaps twenty years, of middle height and good build. His light brown hair was beginning to thin, but his hazel eyes held such good sense and kindness that Ruth liked him at once. "Captain Carter, Sir Henry, might I present Miss Ruth Evershed and Miss Elizabeth Bailey?" The men bowed and the women curtsied. Introductions completed, Lucas would have continued the conversation, had it not been for the untimely entrance of Lady Radford. Quickly excusing himself, the Major left his guests to become acquainted.

Captain Levendis took his chance and extracted his betrothed from under the eye of the admittedly handsome Captain Carter, who was conversing quietly with Mrs North. Ruth was left alone, for the moment, with Sir Henry. He was watching Elizabeth's retreating back with a smile of private enjoyment. Catching Ruth's eye, it widened. "Forgive me, ma'am," he began, and Ruth added his voice, deep and well-modulated, to the list of his pleasant attributes which she barely recalled having begun to note. "I understand the lady is engaged to Captain Levendis? She is a relation of yours?"

Ruth, always pleased to discuss her protegee, smiled shyly in reply and explained, "Miss Bailey is my niece, sir. She is engaged - the announcement was made but lately, however. They plan for a July wedding, before Captain Levendis must rejoin his regiment in the Peninsular." Sir Henry glanced over at the young couple, laughing and talking in a corner of the drawing room, and then returned his attention back to the young lady's aunt. "Does your niece intend to follow him there?" he asked quietly. Ruth's reply, and the anxiety it caused her, must have shown in her face, for Sir Henry smiled down at her reassuringly. "I assure you, ma'am, many more brides do so than not. It is a mark of devotion to her future husband that your niece has chosen to do so. Admirable, I am sure. My own wife chose to remain in England during my term of active service." This last line was uttered somewhat gravely. The idea that Sir Henry had a wife did not, for some reason, sit well with Ruth, but she composedly asked, "Is she not able to attend this evening? I should have liked to make her acquaintance."

An odd look passed across Sir Henry's face, and his gaze was fixed firmly on the wood of the Norths' drawing room floor when he replied, "Forgive me, Miss Evershed, I should have made myself more intelligible. I was referring to my_ late_ wife." Ruth could feel herself blushing at her unwitting mistake. She would have apologised had the dinner gong not at that very moment rung. The level of noise in the drawing room increased as the guests paired up. Major North extended his arm to Lady Radford, and Sir Henry stepped forwards to escort Mrs North. Finding her already on the arm of Captain Carter, he turned with good grace to Ruth and offered her his arm. She accepted it and stilled the tremor of her gloved hand as it rested upon his.

With an eye of approval, Lady Radford noted her goddaughter enter the dining room.

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><p>The Norths' only ever held informal dinners for close friends and relations, so conversation was not restricted to those seated next to each other. The guests were mainly intelligent, well-informed people, and their dialogue ranged across many subjects - literature, the forthcoming Royal Academy's Annual Exhibition at Somerset House, politics, before settling on Captain Carter's business expedition to America, undertaken a year or so ago. He spoke well and fluently, and was eager to answer the questions of the assembled party, most of whom had never been to the ex-colony.<p>

"America is a very comfortable place - amiable people, ingenious minds, pretty women. I declare I could have stayed for a twelvemonth," he told them cheerfully. Ruth smiled at the openness and honesty of his character, a rarity in London society. Next to her, Sir Henry suppressed a chortle of almost bitter laughter, drawing a glance of mock indignation from Captain Carter. "But I forget," he reminded the company, "how much Sir Henry dislikes America." The object of his mirth bowed his head in acquiescence.

"I dislike them, my dear fellow, because I spent four years fighting them, and because it appears that we will now have to do so again," he pointed out dryly. Ruth's eyebrows rose significantly. She was foolish not to have realised sooner that a military man of Sir Henry's age was likely to have served in the war with America of the previous century, and thus have a somewhat coloured view of the sort of events that were currently occurring across the ocean. Sir Henry took a sip of his wine, before continuing. "The ability to rebel against the country of your forefathers is not one I particularly admire." His voice and manner assured everyone of the fixed nature of his opinion, but somehow it irritated Ruth.

"Liberty is not so very much to ask, Sir Henry." Silence fell heavily around the table, as everyone waited to see how Sir Henry would react to Miss Evershed's statement. The baronet merely gazed impassively at his interlocutor for several moments, and Ruth reddened slightly under his gaze. But she was determined not to concede the point. "Perhaps as a woman, I understand that desire for freedom better than any man ever could. And now, they do not seem to have any irrational reason for their complaints. Surely, we have no right to dictate the terms on which they should trade with France, or to force American citizens to fight in our Navy. I do not approve of the way their intentions have thus far been announced, but I find it impossible to disapprove of their motives." Sir Henry's face softened and he raised his glass to her in a silent salute.

"Just as, while I cannot approve of your opinion, ma'am, I must, I think, approve of the mode of its expression. But in these times, perhaps we all must learn to think a little differently." It was a compliment and a placation, and Ruth accepted both gracefully. Elizabeth, who had been anxiously listening to the discussion as if it could bring her aunt some sharp rebuke, relaxed somewhat and returned her attention to Dimitri, sitting on her left hand side. Ruth returned to her food, but Sir Henry found it more difficult to do the same. It was not often, after all, that a lady was met with who not only understood, but could also converse easily, on matters of foreign policy. She intrigued him. Lady Radford, across the table, set down her cutlery, smiling a well-hidden, but extremely self-satisfied smile...

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><p><strong>AN: At this point in time, Britain would only have been a few months away from the Anglo-America War, declared by America on June 18th 1812. I like to think that Harry would have been anti-American, and that Ruth would still have retained her "Spirit of Atlanticism." Hope you enjoyed reading...<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! And now, some after-dinner conversations...**

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><p>As the ladies made their way into the retiring room, Ruth looked out intently for Lady Radford, hardly paying any heed to Elizabeth's raptures over Mrs North's gown. At last, her godmother appeared and, flashing her a kind smile, approached the circle of chairs where Miss Evershed and her young charge had situated themselves. A few minutes of Lady Radford's conversation was enough to bore Elizabeth interminably, and she was understandably relieved when Ruth suggested quietly, "Why do you not go and inquire whether Miss Levendis will still be joining us for a ride tomorrow, Elizabeth?" Her niece, despite having asked this question several hours ago, clutched at this excuse for escape with both hands and rose immediately, remembering at the last moment to bob a brief curtsey to Lady Radford.<p>

Lady Radford raised her eyebrows at Ruth, and her tone when she spoke was dry in the extreme. "You must wish to speak to me about something important, Ruth. You haven't contrived to get Elizabeth out of our way so beautifully since she was eleven." Ruth flushed slightly and closed her eyes in silent acknowledgement of her godmother's words. "I merely wished to make some inquiries about my new acquaintance," she replied lightly. Lady Radford breathed a gentle sigh of relief and her posture seemed to slacken slightly. "Thank goodness. I was rather afraid, my dear, that you were about to begin discussing suitable governessing positions with me, and I appear to have neglected to bring my salts."

Ruth choked back a laugh, enjoying very much her ladyship's obvious disgust at such an unpleasant idea. "Not at all. I have decided to take your advice, dear ma'am, and wait until after the wedding, and perhaps until after Christmas before I make any decisions on that score." Lady Radford nodded in approval and relief. "Well, I will not tell you I am sorry, for I am not. I suggest that you come to stay with me as soon as possible after the wedding, and remain with me at Kieley until the new year, and then we shall see what can be done for you." Her words were firm and Ruth did not argue with her. A prolonged stay with Lady Radford, followed by a Christmas spent at Kieley (Lady Radford's home in the country) was not at all disagreeable to her, she found. "Thank you, ma'am. I would enjoy that very much."

Lady Radford smiled her approval, and then deftly changed the subject. "You wished to inquire about Captain Carter?" she asked innocently.

Ruth's eyes widened. "Forgive me, ma'am, you are mistaken. I rather wished to know about Sir Henry. He seemed a pleasant man, and I was interested to know whether you could tell me about him. His character, his family, how he is thought of by the _ton_."

Lady Radford adjusted a fold of her gown carefully before replying, and Ruth could not help wondering whether Lady Radford was judging how much to reveal to her young friend. "I know very little about him, I am afraid, my dear. He was better acquainted with my late husband than with me. He is spoken of as intelligent and amiable, and clearly he is a gentlemanly sort of man, despite his mother's father having been a mere country parson. But then, his father's family were always well-bred. His land marches near mine, I believe. His house is… Middlethorpe Priory."

Miss Evershed's eyebrows rose significantly. "Middlethorpe? Squire Pevensey's home?"

Lady Radford nodded. "It was, when you were a child. Pevensey was Sir Henry's uncle, and he inherited the baronetcy, as well as a considerable fortune, when Pevensey died. He was childless, you know."

Miss Evershed could vaguely recall such a circumstance, and a brief glimpse of a young man whom she had been told was Squire Pevensey's heir flashed across her mind.

"I understand from what he told me that he is a widower, ma'am."

"Yes, for several years now. There were two children from the marriage, I believe - two boys. No, I am mistaken - 'twas a girl and a boy."

"Was he… was he very happily married, ma'am?" Ruth asked shyly, unsure of why this was such an important question.

Lady Radford gave her niece an appraising glance, and explained dryly, "It is breathed in certain circles that the marriage was not one of unalloyed bliss, my dear." Ruth heard this intelligence with sadness. Unhappy marriages did more damage than was generally known.

"What happened to the children, after their mother's death?" she inquired. With Lady Radford, there had never been any need to disguise her curiosity under a veil of ladylike coyness.

"Miss Pearce was, I believe, sent to live with her aunt in Oxfordshire. The son went to Eton, and then to Oxford, but I have never heard him spoken of with approval. He is rather a _wild_ young man, it seems."

Ruth frowned. Surely a man grieving the loss of his wife would wish for the comfort he might derive from the presence of his children in his home? And yet Sir Henry had sent his offspring away from him.

Quietly, she guessed, "Both of them must be married, by now, I imagine."

Lady Radford nodded. "Miss Pearce is, I believe, to a naval officer who was acquainted with her uncle. There was a murmur amongst the _ton_ at the time of her marriage that Sir Henry did not entirely approve of the matter. I do not know anything regarding this, but it is certainly a fact that Mrs Fitzdean and her husband have never been seen at Middlethorpe. I do not know about Sir Henry's son."

"I think I heard from somewhere - perhaps Captain Carter mentioned it - that Sir Henry is engaged in work for the War Office."

Lady Radford frowned disapprovingly. "Yes. When he resigned his captaincy, he was immediately offered employment there. It is of course unnecessary. His uncle's fortune was passed to him almost intact, and he is not an extravagant man." Ruth pondered this piece of information, and found it to her liking. From hearing him speak, Ruth could guess at patriotism for the reason for Sir Henry's continued employment.

The door opened and the gentlemen began to enter. Lady Radford claimed Captain Carter, whose mother she had been well acquainted with, and Ruth was left to amuse herself as best as she could until Rosalind joined her. The two women were so well engaged in a discussion of a concert they had both recently attended, that neither of them noticed that Sir Henry's attention was rather more focused on Miss Evershed than on the conversation of Major North…

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><p>Unbeknownst to Miss Evershed, a similar conversation to her own with Lady Radford had been conducted in the dining room…<p>

"Lucas," began Sir Henry casually, as the bottle of port began its second journey around the exclusively male dinner table, "have you and Rosalind been acquainted with Miss Evershed for long?" The ladies had retired ten minutes ago, leaving their menfolk to their own company for a while.

Major North poured himself a glass of port, and cast a sly eye at his old friend before replying. "Rosalind went to school with her - some godforsaken place in Bath. I saw you observing her during dinner. Don't tell me the infamously hard hearted Harry Pearce is smelling of April and May for a tabby whom he never knew existed before this evening!"

Harry, as he was known to most of his male acquaintances, frowned disapprovingly at Lucas' obvious mirth and his disparaging language. "You overreach yourself, Lucas. I was merely intrigued by Miss Evershed's mode of expression at dinner. It is unusual to find a well-informed mind behind a pretty face in London society." Lucas guffawed at his friend's staid words. Harry Pearce, to his knowledge, had never, since the death of his less-than-lamented wife, seemed willing to become leg-shackled for a second time. "Ruth isn't a dowdy, I'll give you that, but she's hardly a prime article, Harry." Harry winced again at the less-than-flattering cant his friend was using.

"Lucas, I want facts, not your opinion about her. Tell me about her family, her acquaintance, her character."

Lucas raised his eyebrows. "You _are_ in love with her!" he accused, shocked.

Harry grunted irritably. "Fustian!" he snapped, determined not to admit that he had been captured by a pair of sparkling blue-green eyes, and a light, elegant voice. "I am merely curious. She is unmarried - that is unusual. I'm permitted to make inquiries about a new acquaintance, aren't I? If it were Rosalind asking about her, you wouldn't be giving such mutton-headed answers!"

Lucas shrugged. "Very well. Miss Evershed isn't married, because no one has ever asked her."

His friend's eyes widened and focused on his face, trying to tell whether he was being fed a bouncer. Apparently, he decided he was not, for he repeated after a moment, "No one? No one has ever asked her to marry him?" Lucas nodded, and then recalled Edward Bailey, one of the many unfortunates to have incurred the wrath of his wife on more than occasion. "Apart from her brother-in-law, of course. Before he was her brother-in-law. As I understand it, he made Miss Evershed an offer when she was seventeen, or thereabouts, and when she refused him, he turned his attention to her younger sister. They got married a twelvemonth later, and endured four years of abject misery until Mrs Bailey died. Rosalind couldn't believe it when Ruth moved to Upper Wimpole Street to take charge of her sister's four children."

Harry leant back in his chair, absorbing this information. "What of the rest of her family? Are her parents still living?"

"Her father died when she was twelve. That's why she was sent away to school. Her mother is still alive, I think, married to the Marquis of Somewhere or Other. You'd have to ask Rosalind for the specifics. Her only other relation is Lady Radford - her godmother." A thoughtful look passed over Major North's face. "Lord knows what she will do now that her niece is marrying Levendis, though," he mused, nodding to the foot of the table, where Captains Levendis and Carter were engaged in a discussion of some mutual acquaintance. "Can't imagine her staying in Bailey's house. It'll be a high shame if she goes out for a governess or companion, though." Sighing at the brevity of the answers he was being given as much as at the uncertain state of Miss Evershed's affairs, Harry at last gave up. But Miss Evershed did not leave his thoughts until he entered his bedchamber in his Berkeley Square home that evening. She was certainly a woman to ponder.

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><p><strong>AN: I couldn't resist including some Regency slang in Lucas' conversation with Harry...<strong>

**"Smelling of April and May" means, "madly in love."**

**"A tabby," is an old maid.**

**"A dowdy," is a badly dressed woman. It can often also mean a woman who lacks beauty.**

**"A prime article," is a beautiful woman.**

**"Fustian!" is an exclamatory similar to our modern, "Rubbish!"**

**"Mutton-headed," is used to describe something that is stupid.**

**"A bouncer," is a big lie.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry for the delay in posting - life has been a little hectic recently! But here is the next chapter - hope you enjoy...**

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><p>"Excuse me, ma'am, there is a gentleman to see you." The maid hovered nervously on the doorstep, a mousy girl of sixteen, or thereabouts, new to the household and wary of disturbing any of 'The Family' at any time of the day. Despite her irritation, Miss Evershed set aside her book (Wolf's <em>Prolegomena Ad Homerum<em>) and did her best to smile gratefully at the maid. "Has he sent up his card?" she prompted after a moment. She had allowed Elizabeth to select the new maid from all the applicants they had received, in preparation for running her own household one day. Silently, Ruth hoped that Captain Levendis would not prove to be a stickler in his domestic habits. The girl winced, remembering this duty, and handed over the calling card with an apologetic curtsey.

_Sir Henry Pearce_. The small, neat black letters stared up at her from the backing of white pasteboard. Miss Evershed swallowed, quelling the sudden flutter of unwarranted anticipation and anxiety in her stomach. A gentleman was permitted to pay a morning call to a single female if she was above marriageable age, or if he was an old friend of her family. The latter did not apply to their situation, and the former was merely depressing. She could think of no reason for him to call upon her - last night, she had been almost rude to him, after all! Only his innate sense of propriety could have prevented him from giving her the set-down he probably felt she justly deserved. "Very well. I will receive him here," she sighed faintly at last. The maid curtsied again, and scurried from the room. Ruth had just enough time to set aside her book and rise from the small table in the drawing room that sufficed as a desk from which she could perform her daily tasks before the door opened again to admit her visitor. A curtsey and a bow were exchanged, and Ruth smilingly gestured that he should sit down. He was dressed more informally today, she noted, in a crisp white shirt and elegantly tied cravat, accompanied by knee breeches and immaculately polished top-boots. His black coat, which hid a waistcoat of blue silk, was, while not obviously one of Weston's tightly fitting creations, clearly well-made. It appeared that the Baileys' footman had also been neglectful, for Sir Henry still carried a many-caped driving coat over his arm, and clutched a pair of leather gloves in one large hand. Never had her simple cambric round gown felt more dowdy than it did now.

Sir Henry remained standing. "I am only at liberty for a short time, Miss Evershed, I shall not postpone your reading for long." He had noticed her book. Shyly, she attempted to push it out of view, but was forced to withdraw her hand when his reached out to remove it from the table. He hesitated, calloused fingertips just resting on the spine. "May I?" he asked gently. She forced a smile, wishing she had been reading one of Elizabeth's ladylike novels, instead of a book that was so exactly calculated to invite awkward questions, and replied, "Of course." He lifted the tome and glanced at the title. She saw his cultured brows rise in surprise, before he carefully schooled his expression into one of mere polite interest. "I trust you are enjoying Wolf's arguments, Miss Evershed?" His voice was neutral, expressing neither approval nor disapproval of her choice of reading material, and this lent Ruth some confidence.

"I find them engaging, as I always have done." She flushed, as she realised that her words had betrayed a former knowledge of the text. Sir Henry smiled, and his whole face gained youth, in the delight of shared experience. "It is delightful to find a woman so well-informed. I gather that you are a student of the Classics, Miss Evershed?" He spoke to her in the easy, familiar tone of an older man indulging the scholarly interests of a younger male relation. His attitude was comforting. She nodded shyly. Calmly, he replaced the book upon the table, his fingers lingering over the spine. "You have no cause to be ashamed of your education, ma'am," he told her quietly, his brown eyes warm.

Ruth's mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. "Unfortunately, sir, society at large does not yet share your enlightened opinion on this matter." Fleetingly, he wondered whether this was why she refused her brother-in-law, and why no other man had since proposed to her. Miss Evershed had been intelligent enough to embark on this unconventional journey, but not intelligent enough to fully realise the difficulties her education would cause her in later life.

His sharp eyes softened in sympathy and they sat in silence until Sir Henry coughed awkwardly, and added, "I merely came, ma'am, because it occurred to me that last night I spoke a little sharply to you. I wished to apologise." Ruth's eyes widened with relief and she could not stifle the small chuckle that his words prompted. "Forgive me, sir," she explained smilingly, "but _I_ was concerned that _I_ had offended _you_."

He shook his head, bemused. "What offence could be derived from an intelligent debate, Miss Evershed?"

She blushed. "In my younger years, sir, I was often countenanced by certain interested parties that my tongue was perhaps a little too wild and sharp for the taste of most in society, and now I am never sure whether I speak rightly or not until after the fact." Sir Henry noted the slight tremor in her tone, and the mournful expression that now mantled those formerly glowing blue eyes, and informed her lightly, "The conversation of any intelligent person who expresses themselves well will always be to _my_ taste, Miss Evershed." She looked up and scanned his face, searching for a jest of some kind. There was none - his countenance was softly grave. She smiled in reply, suddenly feeling much better about the whole affair.

The clock on the mantlepiece chimed softly, and with a regretful grimace, Sir Henry rose to his feet. "My apologies, Miss Evershed. I must take my leave. I have an urgent appointment to attend." She rose too, bemused by this sudden visit, betokening a strange wish to further their acquaintance. He flustered her as no one else had ever done. "Goodbye, Sir Henry," she managed, ringing the bell for a maid to show her caller out. He bowed, she curtsied.

"Goodbye, Miss Evershed. I feel sure we will meet again."

The maid entered, bobbed a bashful curtsey at her mistress, and held the door while Sir Henry passed out of it. The door shut with a firm snap; Miss Evershed sank into the nearest seat, somewhat overpowered, and not unpleasantly. For some reason, she felt lighter, and more in spirits than she had for, she was forced to admit, several years, no matter how much she had attempted to deny it to herself, Lady Radford, and, latterly, Elizabeth. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and long-forgotten dimples sparkled into life.

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><p><strong>AN: Prolegomena ad Homerum was a book written in 1795 by Friedrich Augustus Wolf, which focused on the authorship of the Iliad and the Odyssey and the existence of Homer.<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hello, all! Thanks for all your great reviews for the last chapter and apologies for the long wait for this one. To make it up to you, I'm doing a double post, and the next chapter is also now up. Hope you enjoy...**

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><p>As Sir Henry had predicted, he and Ruth <em>did<em> meet again, and soon, too. He seemed to appear everywhere - balls, dinners, picnics, rides - and never lost the opportunity of exchanging a few words with Miss Evershed, usually to recommend a book of some sort which he felt she would find interesting, or to discuss the finer points of a concert or exhibition they had both attended. Sir Henry had travelled widely, and Ruth's penetrating questions never seemed to irritate or tire him. Indeed, he seemed to delight in furthering her knowledge of the world. For the first time in many years, Ruth felt she had a friend. It was innocent and not at all noteworthy: the exchange of intelligent opinions between two learned people.

Their meetings, wherever they took place, all followed a similar vein - a few minutes discussing commonplaces (Miss Evershed discovered that Sir Henry could speak very knowledgeably on the weather when necessary), before the business of discussing more important topics could be introduced. Politics, literature, art, the latest news from Europe and America, and, of course, the latest scandalous doings of the Prince Regent, of whom, Ruth was delighted to discover, Sir Henry disapproved entirely. The less enlightened amongst the pair's mutual acquaintance gossiped amongst themselves over Sir Henry's kind attentions to Miss Evershed, no doubt born out of pity for her unenviable situation, whilst others, most notably Mrs North and Lady Radford, looked on with approval. To them, it was not at all strange that Ruth should have the unwitting power of attracting a man of sense and intelligence, and they both looked forward to the happy event that would doubtless succeed this most odd of courtships.

Sir Henry listened to the gossips with amusement. Pity had no place in his friendship with Miss Evershed. He admired her fearsome intellect, was captivated by her endearing shyness, and was in serious danger of falling entirely in love with her. A less than happy marriage, followed by almost two decades of a nigh-on-complete lack of deep familial relationships, had made him believe that a second love, at his age, was impossible. And now he found himself thrown regularly into the company of a bright, mature woman - principled, but not naive, who knew the times when conversation or silence would be more acceptable, with a gentle sense of humour that could not fail to coincide with his own dry wit. Sir Henry was under no illusions; he had fallen in love with Miss Evershed, even if he dared not reveal it, either to the lady herself or to her friends.

Strangely, such an idea had not occurred to Miss Evershed. She continued to enjoy her new acquaintance, particularly since the preparations for Elizabeth's marriage were enveloping much of her time, to the extent that her studies had been somewhat neglected of late. She felt that she could excuse her lack of diligence if she engaged in conversation with Sir Henry a few times a week - he would always have something to say that would stimulate her brain, in the absence of any more concrete studying. With him, she could laugh and talk easily, without any anxiety that she could offend him by not concurring with his opinions or beliefs. The gift of his acquaintance meant her freedom.

May arrived, and with it an invitation to attend the Royal Academy's exhibition at Somerset House with Lady Radford. Edward, always quick to avoid any plan involving Lady Radford who had disapproved of him almost from the moment of his acquaintance with her goddaughters, declined hastily, and since Elizabeth had no taste for art, Miss Evershed found herself travelling alone to Lady Radford's home on the afternoon appointed for their visit to the exhibition. Upon arriving, however, she discovered that Lady Radford was unfortunately rather unwell; so unwell, in fact, that she had been unable to send word to her goddaughter, or, indeed, to Sir Henry, who unbeknownst to Ruth had also been invited. She entered to find her godmother lying on the sofa, with the aforementioned gentleman standing beside her, seemingly engaged in some sort of private conversation. At Ruth's entrance, however, Lady Radford looked up apologetically. "I am afraid, my dear, that we shall have to postpone our visit," the old lady murmured weakly. Then, a thought seemed to strike her and she brightened momentarily.. "Unless you and Sir Henry would be willing to attend without me. A chaperone is hardly needed, after all…"

Ruth's eyes narrowed. As far as she could remember, Lady Radford had never been ill in her life. She felt sure that a plot was being… well, plotted, but she had not time to attempt to grasp at its finer details. She opened her mouth to reassure her godmother that she was perfectly content to delay their outing until she had recovered her health, but before she could, Sir Henry intervened smoothly. "Of course, I would be delighted to escort Miss Evershed to the exhibition, ma'am." Her godmother, it appeared, had a co-conspirator. Lady Radford beamed, patted Ruth's hand comfortingly, and before long, Ruth found herself seated beside Sir Henry in his barouche. "I hope your godmother recovers quickly, Miss Evershed," he murmured soberly.

Dryly, Ruth replied, "As do I." His lips quivered and soon both were smiling at Lady Radford's incorrigibility.

The exhibition was everything Ruth had hoped it would be. As well as the beauty of Somerset House, which had always attracted her admiration, the paintings themselves could not fail to engage the attention of anyone with culture and taste. As they wandered the long gallery, covered floor to ceiling with paintings, trying to discover the latest work of Sir Thomas Lawrence and commenting animatedly upon the people and art around them, Ruth's eye was caught by a head of strikingly blonde hair, belonging to a young woman who had just entered the room, on the arm of a man in what was unmistakeably a naval uniform. She looked oddly familiar and Ruth had just turned to Sir Henry to ask if he was acquainted with the lady or her companion, when he strode past her, heading straight for the blonde haired beauty, a look of utter shock on his face.

Ruth followed him hesitantly, her curiosity piqued, glad that no one else in the gallery appeared to have noticed this exceptionable piece of behaviour. She watched Sir Henry approach the woman, and heard him greet her softly with, "Catherine, my dear - I had no idea of your being in town. You are well, I trust?" The young woman's companion had remained, unaddressed, in the background, and an inkling of who the pair were tugged at Ruth's memory. Her suspicion was confirmed when Catherine curtsied slightly and said indifferently, "Tolerably well, I thank you, papa." Her father paused for a moment, but his daughter showed no inclination to make similar enquiries in return, or to prolong their meeting, and at last, he pressed her hand awkwardly and offered, "I would be glad to see you more often, my dear. We have not met for almost a year - "

His daughter turned away slightly. "We are not in town often, sir, and I fear our engagements at present will not allow for any addition to our regular acquaintance. Goodbye." She vanished once more, melting seamlessly into the crowd with her husband, and Sir Henry returned to Ruth's side, looking a decade older and sad to boot. "My daughter, Catherine, and her husband," he explained quietly and gravely. His eyes were still focused wistfully on the spot where his daughter had stood, and pity for him overwhelmed Ruth. Theirs was not a happy, or a close, relationship, it seemed. "I disapproved of her marriage, but she had attained her majority - I made the attempt, but could do nothing to prevent it. Catherine has never forgiven me. When she was a child, she was very much attached to me, but I fear that as she grew older, I… lost sight of her somewhat."

Ruth hesitated and then reached out to lay a comforting hand on his arm. "Her mother's death cannot have eased the situation. I am sure you wished to act for the best, sir, but young ladies do not often think or feel in the same way as their fathers do." He smiled and shook himself slightly. "Thank you, Miss Evershed. I suppose that as we grow older, there are more causes for regret to be found, even in things we once valued highly."

Ruth did not entirely understand, and in any case, she felt that Sir Henry was speaking rather to himself than to her. She merely removed her hand and gave him an encouraging smile. "And I shall very much regret it if we cannot find Sir Thomas Lawrence's new painting, sir." He took up her jesting words, and a moment later, he was Sir Henry again - amiable, intelligent and extremely good company. But the meeting with Catherine had opened Ruth's eyes. Sir Henry had a past and a family of whom she knew almost nothing about. Why, then, did she feel as though she had known him all her life? And why did he persist in treating her in a similar manner?

Mentally shrugging, Miss Evershed abandoned any attempt to understand more deeply Sir Henry's motives. A friend, after all, was a friend - and there was no more valuable friend than one who never showed pity or compassion for her situation.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Second chapter of the day - quite long, and introducing a familiar face... Sorry, I couldn't resist...**

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><p>This, at least, was the manner in which Ruth at first regarded her acquaintance. But, several months after the beginning of their acquaintance, something happened to make Miss Evershed regard Sir Henry's attentions in quite a different light…<p>

The significant event took place at a ball held at Lady Radford's town house in June, just a few short weeks before Elizabeth's wedding. Lady Radford had her keen eyes fixed on Elizabeth, who was dancing with her betrothed, so Ruth had no qualms at all, when Sir Henry positioned himself against the wall next to her, about smiling at him in greeting, and informing him somewhat smugly, "I have finished the book you so kindly recommended, Sir Henry." She had spent the past few days alternately poring over an Italian lexicon and engrossed in the _Divina Commedia_, determined to finish it in order that its discussion might furnish their conversation on the occasion of their next meeting. He shifted his position slightly and scanned her face intensely before shaking his head. "You did not enjoy Dante's verse, I fear, Miss Evershed," he said with a sigh. She looked down at her lap, hiding the rueful grin that was spreading across her face.

"I regret to inform you that I did not. I fear that it was… unrealistic."

His voice was warm with amusement as he pressed her, "Enlighten me."

She looked up at him, her face entirely solemn, and then pointed out, "I merely felt that Virgil, being such a great poet, would perhaps have other business to attend to, rather than guiding a mere mortal through the Underworld." There was a moment of silence, and then a sparkle of fun slipped into Ruth's eyes and the corner of Sir Henry's mouth turned up, showing very white teeth and the fact that he was thoroughly enjoying her joke. He bowed. "Then I shall, in future, endeavour to select my recommendations with more care. You are a fastidious reader, ma'am." At that point, the country-dance that the musicians had been playing ended with a flourish, and Miss Evershed turned her head to watch her young niece returning from the floor to the group of chairs amongst which was seated her aunt.

On reaching them, she curtsied to Sir Henry and took a seat next to her aunt, complacently waiting for Captain Levendis to bring her a glass of lemonade. The musicians were resting for a few minutes, and Elizabeth took this opportunity to address Sir Henry, in the lively, informal manner that Ruth had never been quite easy with. "I am sure my aunt would like to dance, Sir Henry. It cannot be healthy, you know, for her to be sitting still for so long a period of time." There was an excruciating pause, during which Miss Evershed kept her head focused on her lap, feeling her face burning crimson, caught up in a horror so deep that she could not even raise her head to chastise Elizabeth. Then, as if the idea had only just struck her, Elizabeth added brightly, "Perhaps you would like to ask her, Sir Henry!" From the moment the words left Elizabeth's mouth, Ruth began plotting her niece's painful, slow demise. But Sir Henry's voice was entirely steady when he extended his hand to Ruth and asked, "If you are not previously engaged for the next set, Miss Evershed, I should be delighted if you would stand up with me for it."

Stunned, she could do nothing more than stammer out her thanks and acceptance and rise with him to go forth onto the floor, where several other couples were already forming themselves into eight-dancer sets for a cotillion. The music began. Miss Evershed surprised herself by managing to remember the steps enough to turn her attention to observing her partner. As they moved closer together for the first change, Ruth managed to catch Sir Henry's eye and whisper, in mortified tones, "I must apologise for my niece's forward way of addressing you. I assure you I did not request her to beg you to partner me, sir." Sir Henry shook his head reassuringly, taking her hand to skip, with surprising agility, down the set by one place. "On the contrary, Miss Evershed, it was my own preconceived idea, and not your niece's kindly meant admonition, that prompted my request." Ruth frowned, working out what he meant. Had he wanted to dance with her, then? But that was a very strange wish, in a man of his age, who, she guessed from the lack of information available about his private affairs, did not go much into society as a rule.

Sir Henry was watching her face, enjoying her puzzlement. At last, she murmured, "Then… you wished to dance with me?" He gave her an enigmatic smile and did not reply. The dance finished abruptly. Around her, couples bowed and curtsied to one another. Sir Henry bowed over her hand, and then, so quickly that she later thought she must have dreamt it, he pressed his lips to her outstretched fingertips. Ruth trembled, frozen to the floor, until Sir Henry offered her his arm and returned her to her seat. Elizabeth graced him with a bright smile, and rose, her hand moving out to indicate her recently vacated seat next to Ruth, whose heart was beating such a rapid tattoo on her ribcage, for some odd reason, that she could not even open her mouth to second her niece's invitation, and the gentleman seemed quite willing to accept it, when his face, previously a picture of warm, open amiability, suddenly hardened as he looked past Ruth to a figure standing a little behind them and to the right.

Ruth turned her head, but saw only another woman - a few years older than Sir Henry, perhaps, with black hair just visible from beneath a turban of amber silk, which perfectly matched her clearly well-made gown. For a woman no longer in her prime, Ruth had to admit that this female still retained the undoubted beauty of her youth, now refined by the elegance of maturity. However, her eyes were a cold blue-grey, and a rather unpleasant smirk played around her lips as she surveyed Sir Henry. "Juliet…" he breathed, wide-eyed, as she advanced towards him. She didn't bother to curtsey to him, merely inclined her head, and greeted him with, "Good evening, Harry." Ruth frowned at this woman's informal way of addressing Sir Henry, and Elizabeth, wide-eyed with awe, escaped onto the welcoming arm of Captain Levendis, who had just come to claim her for the quadrille. Sir Henry opened and closed his mouth several times before any words came out. Juliet's presence here tonight was clearly a surprise - and not a pleasant one. Finally, he croaked out, "Good evening, my lady." There was silence, and then Juliet raised an eyebrow and Sir Henry, reluctantly it seemed, turned to Ruth.

Miss Evershed, sensing his intention, rose to her feet. "Miss Evershed, might I present Lady Juliet Shaw… Lady Shaw, Miss Ruth Evershed. Lord Shaw holds a post in the War Office. Miss Evershed is the goddaughter of our hostess, Lady Radford." The ladies curtsied politely to each other, Lady Shaw taking in, with a viciously amused eye, the somewhat dowdy simplicity of Miss Evershed's gown. "Delightful," she murmured coolly as they rose. Sir Henry flashed a look full of agonised awkwardness at Ruth, and then forced a smile. "I shall leave you to become acquainted, ladies." He was gone, and did not look back. Lady Shaw watched him leave with an arch look, and then took Elizabeth's seat.

"I sense my appearance here this evening was unexpected - perhaps I should have warned Sir Henry first. I am sorry for it." But she was smirking again, and Ruth felt sure that her regret was insincere. Sir Henry had not made the introduction out of choice, that much she knew, and there was something about her that made Ruth distrust her immediately. Then, deciding that she must say _something_, Ruth asked in a somewhat unsteady voice, "Have you been acquainted with Sir Henry for many years, ma'am?"

Lady Shaw gave a short, dry laugh and replied airily, "Oh, Sir Henry and I are old friends. He served under my late husband's command in America at one time. He had not long been married, as I recall." Ruth admitted to herself that she was certainly curious about Sir Henry's late wife, and would have made further inquiries, had her companion not then added, "I imagine that _you_ cannot have been acquainted with him for long, Miss Evershed. Sir Henry generally introduces any new acquaintance of his to me with rather more promptness than he did tonight." Her words seemed almost those of a jealous lover, and Sir Henry's embarrassment all at once became clear. No man enjoyed being accosted by his mistress in a public place among his more respectable friends, after all. Ruth closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very foolish. Because Sir Henry had treated her with kindness and attention, Ruth, like a schoolroom miss in the middle of her first season, had believed him to be different from any other gentleman of his class and wealth. Of course, he would present to her a face utterly disparate to the one he offered to his men friends when they, undoubtedly, frequented gaming hells and the like…

"Are you quite well, Miss Evershed? You appear rather flushed." Lady Shaw's voice was smug and self-satisfied, only covered by a thin veneer of concern.

Ruth shook her head, and tried to smile, although she felt bewilderingly close to tears. "I am well, I assure you. Perhaps it is too hot…" Lady Shaw rose in a rustle of expensive skirts. "I will call Lady Radford," she declared and departed before Ruth could open her mouth to prevent her. She closed her eyes, praying she was not about to faint.

Footsteps approached again, and Ruth opened her eyes to find both Lady Radford and Elizabeth gazing anxiously down at her. "Are you quite alright, aunt? Lady Shaw said you felt faint - "

"I shall be quite alright in a moment, my dear. I will take a turn about the terrace in the cool air and be with you again directly," Ruth interrupted firmly, rising from her chair, and preparing to leave the room. She could trust in Lady Radford to act as Beth's distant chaperone for a few minutes. Elizabeth nodded in acceptance, still looking nervous, and watched as her aunt slipped out through the ballroom's French windows onto Lady Radford's small terrace. The main reason for the purchase of this house twenty years ago had been the advantage of having a small garden at the back of the house, with this terrace, for the use of Lady Radford and, later, her goddaughters. Ruth walked the length of the terrace slowly, allowing the light cool breeze to tease curls of her hair from the neat style she herself had pinned it into that evening - both abigails having been too busy in preparing Miss Elizabeth's toilette. _Foolish_, she fumed silently. _Foolish to believe that any man could possibly wish to - that any man could think - _

A choked sob escaped her lips. She had never felt so low in all her life as she did standing on that terrace, contemplating the unenviable task that awaited her. She must cut her acquaintance with Sir Henry _quam celerrime_. Knowing what she did now, about both of them, she could not possibly continue meeting with him or allow their acquaintance to progress any further. An observer would have been able to detect the trace of tears sparkling at the corners of Miss Evershed's eyes, which she swiped at firmly before turning around to return to the ballroom - and coming face to face with Sir Henry Pearce. Her eyes widened and her face, to him, seemed to take on the appearance of a rabbit caught in the grim sight of a sportsman's gun. "Sir Henry… you startled me," she stuttered. He stepped forward curiously, and Ruth thanked God fervently for the dark night, which would hopefully hide the faint tracks of tears on her cheeks. Sir Henry noticed them at once, but was too much a gentleman to make any comment. He bowed. "Forgive me, Miss Evershed. I am come to tell you that Miss Bailey has ordered your carriage. She was concerned that you had not returned to her. She mentioned that you had felt faint, and I thought it prudent to assure myself of your safety." His voice was quiet, subdued, when he added, "May I offer you my arm to your carriage?"

She took a deep breath, her back rigidly straight, although she felt tired and longed to accept his support. "I thank you, that will not be necessary, sir," Miss Evershed replied stiffly. "I shall find my niece directly." Ruth made to walk past him, but he was too fast. He reached out and grasped her lower arm gently, using only enough force to halt her. His eyes looked down, all of their usual warmth replaced by a mournful conscience of having sinned in some unthought-of way. "I wish you would tell me what has put you so out of countenance, Miss Evershed." She made no reply, and merely stared pointedly at his gloved hand, clasped around her wrist. He did not release her, and she could feel his brown eyes burning intently into the top of her head as he looked down upon her. She dared not look up at him again and catch sight of his expression. "I am very tired," she admitted, quivering on the edge of further tears. "I am tired, and wish to go home. Oh, _please let me go!_"

Her last words, uttered in a birdlike cry, acted as a command to him. His cool fingers dropped from her wrist immediately. "Forgive me," he murmured. "Forgive me if I have done anything that does not meet with your approbation." She shook her head silently, biting her lip to fight the burning sensation behind her eyes.

He frowned. "You are unwell. You must permit me to escort you to your carriage - I will brook no argument." And so saying, he tucked her arm into his, and led her slowly back into the ballroom, keeping to its edge so as to avoid unpleasant questions. Ruth, somewhat relieved at having had all power of resistance taken out of her hands, allowed Sir Henry to take the bulk of her weight, hoping fervently that her knees weren't about to give way. Luckily, most of the room's occupants were engaged in either watching, or dancing, the cotillion which the musicians were playing. Lady Radford was waiting with Elizabeth in the hall, a worried frown creasing her brow.

"My dear Ruth, I do hope you are not sickening for something," she sighed.

Ruth accepted her mantle from a waiting footman and busied herself with fastening it correctly before replying with as much forced cheerfulness as she could muster, "No, ma'am. I shall be quite well in the morning. I was merely a little hot, and have a slight headache." Sir Henry, who had moved from Ruth's side to the door in order to look out for the approach of the carriage, turned his head and announced its arrival. Ruth was glad to escape, and only sorry that she had not been able to leave without taking with her the recollection of the feel of Sir Henry's firm hand on hers as he had helped her into the carriage and the sound of his voice as he warned the driver to curb his speed in light of Miss Evershed not feeling quite the thing at present. And no matter how much she tried, in later days, to banish it from her memory, she could not forget the way he leant inside the carriage and said softly, "Goodnight, Miss Evershed, Miss Bailey."

Ruth rested her head back against the seat of the carriage, and allowed Beth to prattle on about the discussion she and her future sister-in-law had had about the possibility of a shopping expedition next week, glad to have something to take her mind off less pleasant remembrances. At last, Beth fell silent for a moment. Then, she smiled at her aunt, and said, sympathetically, "I _am_ sorry for your headache, aunt. I am sure Sir Henry was vastly sorry to hear of it, too, for I believe he had only approached me in the hope of asking you to dance again. I am sure he likes you." Ruth, sickened, sat forwards, unable for the present to correct her niece. Beth continued. "And I heard Lady Steele telling Lady Radford that she believed the same thing. Oh, Aunt Ruth, you will be so happy!"

Ruth blushed with shame and regret. So that was what the_ ton_ thought, was it? That Sir Henry Pearce, a man of vast wealth, intellect, and, she had to admit, powers of attraction, was dangling after an impoverished ape-leader at least seventeen years younger than himself? He would be the laughing-stock of polite society, if he wasn't already. Sir Henry had meant nothing but friendship, and she, foolish as she was, had mistaken his perfectly honourable intentions, and -

Firmly, and rather sharply, she interrupted Elizabeth: "I am afraid Lady Steele is wholly mistaken. Sir Henry is not courting me, and I assure you it would be the greatest of insults to him to accuse him of having any designs of that nature upon me. I am disappointed that you would indulge in such idle gossip, Elizabeth." Beth's face fell at her aunt's words, and when she next spoke, she sounded baffled and not a little hurt.

"But… we have been in society with him so much lately, and he always has something of great import to say to you, and he recommends you books, which I am sure he would not do if he did not care for you, and… I was so positive that you…" Her niece's voice faded away, unsure of how to express herself in terms not totally disrespectful to her much-loved aunt. But her meaning was more than clear. Elizabeth had believed that Ruth was attached to Sir Henry, and the blame for _that_, Ruth was forced to acknowledge, ought to be laid at no one's door but her own. She had always been so glad to see Sir Henry, so clear in her praise of his good qualities whenever she had been asked, that Elizabeth could have come to no other rational conclusion. The situation was only made worse by the realisation, all too late, that her niece was correct, at least in part. Ruth took a deep breath and forced herself to meet her niece's eyes. "I am sorry if you, or anyone else, has been misled, Elizabeth, but Sir Henry is not in love with me, and I am not in love with him, and I must ask that we do not speak of this matter again."

Beth bowed her head quietly in submission, and the rest of the journey was passed in perfect silence. Therefore, it was that Miss Evershed did not witness Sir Henry's return to Lady Radford's ballroom, and the look of utter loathing that was directed at Lady Shaw as she attempted to approach him just half an hour later.

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><p><strong>Just have to admit how much I loved writing this chapter - angst is always fun, especially with HR...**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: And here, Sir Henry gets to explain himself... for threesummerdays, who wanted a chance for Harry to prove himself "a sweetheart." I hope this meets with your approval!**

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><p>Miss Evershed did not sleep well that night, or the next, or the next. Pain at the thought that she had very nearly fallen utterly in love with Sir Henry was mixed with dread at what would come of their next meeting. She must attempt to speak to him in private, and inform him of the necessity of breaking their acquaintance. It was not a pleasant prospect. But it appeared that the same thought had struck Sir Henry, because for almost a whole week, their paths did not cross. Ruth wondered if he had retreated to the country, but a brief sight of him driving in Hyde Park one day, as she and Elizabeth were taking their daily walk, dispelled this thought.<p>

But when she arrived downstairs on the Friday morning following Lady Radford's ball, after a late breakfast brought to her in bed by her personal maid, Ruth was surprised to be informed by the butler that Sir Henry Pearce had called to inquire after ma'am's health and was currently waiting in the library for her, in the company of the master. Her hand went to her forehead immediately, with a low exclamation of, "Oh, my!" Clearly the interview would have to take place sooner, and yet later, than she would have wished. She entered the library after a brief knock on the door. Both men looked up in relief - obviously little conversation had been taking place. Sir Henry rose to his feet and bowed formally to Ruth, who curtsied in return. "Good morning, Miss Evershed. I trust you are now fully recovered from your head ache?" he asked in a low voice.

She smiled a half-smile, and replied calmly enough, although her heart was hammering at the sight of him in her brother's house. "I thank you, Sir Henry, I am."

He allowed his face to relax into his customary expression of amiability, obviously relieved. "In that case, ma'am, I should be delighted if you would agree to go driving with me. The weather is pleasant and my curricle and tiger await outside, should the prospect prove agreeable." Ruth's breath caught in her throat. This was entirely unexpected. It was acceptable for a lady to go driving with a gentleman as long as a groom or other chaperone was in attendance, and a quick glance in Edward's direction proved that he was not against the plan. Perhaps a drive with Sir Henry would be best - at least she could speak to him privately there, and discuss the cooling-off of their intimacy. At last, she nodded. "I should be glad to go driving with you, sir."

Having changed into a dress more suitable for such a venture, she returned downstairs to find Sir Henry awaiting her in the hall. He handed her up into the curricle easily and took the driving seat himself. He drove well, and even such an inexperienced person as Ruth could tell that his horses were first rate. They drove in silence, until, upon entering Hyde Park, Sir Henry, with an idle twitch of the reins, announced calmly, "Now, if you please, Miss Evershed, you will help me to an understanding of your distress at our last meeting." Her hands clenched in her lap around her reticule and she dared not meet his eyes. "I had a head ache, sir," she insisted firmly.

He tutted, unimpressed, and replied dryly, "I'm sure you will forgive me for doubting your word, ma'am, but I do not believe you had a head ache. Or, rather, I do not believe that a mere head ache could have put you so out of countenance, so quickly." Ruth scowled. Sir Henry cast an amused glance in her direction and added, "You need only answer, 'Yes, sir' or 'No, sir' to my questions, if longer sentences are out of your power at present." Ruth could sense the smile in his tone and couldn't help smiling herself. She nodded. If only he were not so amiable!

"Very well. Did Lady Shaw say something to distress you?"

"Yes, sir," was the barely audible answer.

"Something regarding yourself?"

"No, sir."

"Something regarding Miss Bailey?"

"No, sir."

There was a pause. Then: "Something, perhaps, regarding myself?"

Ruth looked out at the swiftly passing parkland and, blushing, murmured, "Yes, sir."

Sir Henry's mouth twisted sardonically at his own powers of perception. "Ah, I see. Lady Shaw, I gather, has hinted at our former acquaintance. And you, I imagine, have come driving with me merely to inform me that our intimacy must cease and desist forthwith."

Ruth twisted around in her seat and looked searchingly at him. At last, he laughed softly, and informed her, "Your face is very easy to read when you are embarrassed, ma'am. Might I be allowed to explain?"

Ruth looked up into his eyes, and replied carefully, "No explanation is necessary, sir." A lady, after all, feigned ignorance of all the less savoury aspects of the lives of the male members of her acquaintance. "Your… connection with Lady Shaw is your own affair, Sir Henry, and I have no right to intrude." Harry was baffled at her replies, to say the least. Miss Evershed, he had hoped, was beginning to like him as much as he liked her, so her quiet, short responses were highly disconcerting. He frowned down at her, and insisted, "You must let me explain, Miss Evershed."

She sighed shudderingly, and he noted that she was in great danger of twisting off several of the braided tassels from her reticule. "Please, sir," she whispered, "I think it would be better if you returned me to my brother-in-law's house now."

Sir Henry shook his head, and gave no sign that he was preparing to turn the curricle about. "Miss Evershed, you are distressed, and I would explain myself. When I have had done, and only then, will I return you to your brother in law."

Ruth gritted her teeth in a most unladylike manner, and announced grimly, "Very well." She had no desire to hear Sir Henry's explanation but she did not seem to have any other choice, unless she was willing to make a ruinous spectacle of herself in front of not only the baronet's groom, but also the other people in the park. He inclined his head gratefully to her, and began. "I should be grateful, Miss Evershed, if you would allow me to speak uninterrupted. Furthermore, you must understand, ma'am, that these recollections are highly unpleasant to me, and that I would not have engaged to explain myself to you had I not been fully assured of your absolute discretion."

Ruth nodded. "I think you may rely on me for that, sir."

"Very well. I first became acquainted with Juliet Shaw upon entering the regiment commanded by her husband in America, six months after my marriage. She was several years my senior, clever, witty, vivacious. I was attracted to her. My wife's absence did not aid the situation, as you can imagine. She… became my mistress. It was not love, Miss Evershed, on either side; I was desperately missing my wife, and she felt herself trapped in a marriage made only for wealth and power. Our… association was brief, thank God, and did no lasting damage. The war ended soon afterwards and I resigned my captaincy and returned home. Jane had given birth to a daughter in my absence, and my father and uncle had both died, so we settled at Middlethorpe, my family home. I hoped to allow my folly and infidelity to pass, unlamented, into the realms of memory - and for a time, it did. I fathered a second child, a son, and settled down to a post at the War Office. Unfortunately, so did Colonel, now Lord, Shaw. Juliet and I were forced into almost weekly intimacy, and Jane was exposed to her acquaintance too. Jane began to distance herself from me, and, God forgive me, Juliet and I returned to our old ways. I believe there were infidelities on my wife's side too, though that is but a coward's excuse. Jane died soon afterwards, in childbed, and Lord Shaw was given a posting as Ambassador to Austria. Occasionally, now, I see Lady Shaw in society, but never without infinite hatred and regret for my past actions. She and I… are no longer engaged in any sort of relationship."

Sir Henry fell silent. Miss Evershed rested her hand on her temple, feeling the blood thudding unpleasantly there. Her heart felt irritatingly light. He had transgressed, yes, but in his past, and appeared now to bitterly regret the whole. Lady Shaw no longer had any claim on him. "I see," she murmured at last. "But, Lady Shaw spoke as if - as if your intimacy continued. I believed…" She trailed off, unwilling to complete her sentence. Kindly, Sir Henry explained, "Lady Shaw has always been possessed of a rather jealous nature. I believe the sight of you dancing with me may have piqued her somewhat, but I blame myself for the whole."

"Yourself? Sir Henry - "

He raised a gloved hand and she fell silent. "My shock at seeing Lady Shaw there overpowered me for a moment. Had I not abandoned you to her conversation, much anxiety could have been avoided. Can you forgive me?"

She gave him a sunny smile, and nodded. "I do not see that anyone should be forced to atone repeatedly for something that occurred when they were very young, and which they now regret, Sir Henry. You have no need to ask for my forgiveness."

The half-smile which he gave her was tired, but then, visibly forcing his countenance into a brighter aspect, he replied, "Very well. We shall not speak of it again, ma'am."

But Ruth still could not help being a little troubled. In the distress of believing herself duped by him, she had entirely forgotten Beth's words. Sir Henry's smile faded as he caught sight of her face once more. "You are still troubled," he stated quietly. She attempted to force another smile, and shook her head. "It is silly - you will think me foolish, sir. 'Twas merely something my niece brought to my attention."

Sir Henry inclined his head encouragingly, wanting her to go on. Ruth took a deep breath. "She informed me that certain members of the _ton_ believed that… that you were courting me. I thought you ought to be told, so that you could decide what is best to be done."

He frowned, somewhat confused. "Done? I do not quite understand. As I see it, the _ton _may think as they like."

Ruth bit her lip, wishing that she could have his devil-may-care attitude. "But… does it not concern you that the _ton_ are - are - laughing at you, sir?"

He deftly flicked the reins and began to turn his curricle about. "I do not understand why they should be laughing at all, Miss Evershed. I have a perfect right to conduct my affairs as I wish, without reference to anyone else." There was silence for a moment, and then Sir Henry turned to look down upon her, forming his next words very carefully. He was not yet so sure of his companion's heart to risk an outward declaration. His mouth opened and closed several times, and then he added gently, "Miss Evershed, I… consider you to be one of my very good friends, and I hold you in high esteem. The _ton_ may think what it chooses about our acquaintance or my motives, but that is their concern, and certainly not something that should cause you any anxiety."

Ruth remained silent. Sir Henry was, and, moreover, could only ever be, her _friend_ - a man she could talk to about anything, and not run the risk of being thought unladylike or possessed of bluestocking tendencies. Or, at least, he did not disapprove of her bluestocking tendencies. He reminded her very much of her old champion, Lord Radford - intelligent, kind and utterly loyal. But, if this was so, then why could she not feel towards him as she had done towards Lord Radford? Why did his words persist in striking a chord of disappointment into her heart?

Ruth, however, was not permitted to puzzle over these thoughts for long. The curricle soon drew up outside the Baileys' house, and Sir Henry assisted Ruth down. "Good day, Miss Evershed," he smiled, bowing over her hand, and was gone.

Fortunately, with Elizabeth's wedding mere days away, Miss Evershed had no time to dwell upon her own strange feelings. The whole household was in an uproar of frenzied activity, and Ruth, as the only person in the house who seemed to be able to keep a clear head, was called upon to assist in all manner of tasks - discussing the wedding breakfast with the Baileys' cook, attending Elizabeth at fittings for new clothes, answering letters and notes and preventing what felt like the whole world from collapsing in on them all. In addition, she was also in the throes of arranging her own removal from the Bailey household after the wedding. She barely slept, staying awake until the early hours, making final arrangements. Edward had, with a good grace, given up his study to her, as being the most convenient room in the house in which such work could go on, and Ruth remained there until the early hours of each morning, before reluctantly retreating to her bedchamber to grasp in vain at sleep for a few hours. She refused to admit that her wakefulness was due to a certain baronet, but she couldn't fail to notice the increasing frequency with which she caught herself thinking about him. At any rate, occupation was best, for both head and heart, as Lord Radford had always said.

It was during one of these evenings, when Edward and Elizabeth had long gone to bed, along with the servants, including Miss Evershed's faithful Scottish abigail Samantha, as Miss Evershed was reviewing the list of jobs she still had to do, and thinking that perhaps she could survive without sleep that night, that there came a sharp knocking at the door. Ruth placed down the papers she had been intently studying and rose from her seat, glad that the study was on the ground floor of the house. Hesitantly, she moved to the window and twitched back the curtain in order to look outside at the street. Despite the deep black of the night, there was a full moon, and by this light Miss Evershed could make out the silhouette of a man. Her heart leapt at the thought that it could be Sir Henry - but she quickly stifled that thought. He was not so unconventional as to call at such a time as - she looked at the clock on the mantelpiece - one o'clock in the morning. Was it truly so late?

She shook her head. Besides, the figure she saw outside was too tall to be Sir Henry, and his shoulders were not broad enough. For a moment, she pondered going upstairs and rousing one of the servants, or Edward, but decided against it when the door was knocked again, more insistently.

Quickly, she went out into the hall, determined to silence the knocker before he woke the whole house. Scowling somewhat, she unlocked the door and opened it slightly, ready to slam it shut if her late night caller proved to be unknown to her. A dark haired man, scarcely twenty, looked back at her out of completely familiar grey eyes, so like her own. Ruth breathed a sigh of relief. "James!" she gasped and stood back to let in her youngest nephew. He grinned roguishly and stepped into the hallway, removing his coat as he did so. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and Ruth quickly realised that he was not exactly sober.

"Whatever are you doing in London? Why ever have you called so late?" she asked in a lowered voice, guiding him through in to the study and seating him by the fire. He rose again very quickly, however, and murmured somewhat sheepishly, "For the wedding, of course! I was on my way here earlier this afternoon, aunt, and then I came across some old acquaintances, quite by chance, y'know, and… and, then I'm not quite sure how I came to be so late." Ruth raised her eyebrows, wondering why she was surprised at James's utterance of such a vague excuse. Passing a hand over her suddenly weary eyes, she persisted, "But we were sure that you wouldn't be able to attend the wedding, James - the university authorities surely haven't given you leave?"

Her nephew coughed slightly and her countenance darkened. "James…" she uttered in menacing tones.

He sighed and finally admitted, "I've been rusticated, aunt. Just for a small prank - hardly even worth mentioning, yet alone dragging a chap over the coals for - everyone agreed…"

His voice faded away in the face of his aunt's clear horror. "Not… not _permanently_?" she exclaimed in low tones. The thought of her nephew being actually expelled from Cambridge was thoroughly shocking. James, however, shook his head enthusiastically. "Oh, no! Just for the rest of the term. Please don't ring a peal over me, Aunt Ruth!" His words somewhat grated on Ruth. She had spent her life fighting for a fair education, and this boy, who had been handed all the things she had so dearly wished for and so often been denied, was wasting the many opportunities he had been offered.

His aunt crossed her arms, half-relieved. "It isn't my scolding you have to worry about. Think about what your father will have to say when you confess the whole to him, James!"

He groaned and pressed a hand to his temples. "Lord, must I tell him? You might break it to him more gently, aunt, and then - "

Miss Evershed's eyes flashed. "Absolutely not! You will tell him yourself and bear his completely justifiable rage alone, too!" James's shoulders sagged considerably. "Very well, aunt." He sank back down into one of the fireside chairs. Wearily, Miss Evershed decided that a few hours' sleep would probably best equip her for the undoubted trials of tomorrow. She walked quietly to the door, still somewhat fuming, and then paused, hand on its handle, and looked back. James had his eyes closed and his head resting back in the chair, his legs stretched out to absorb the last vestiges of warmth from the fire.

"Don't worry about waking any of the servants, Aunt Ruth," he murmured sleepily. "I shall do here until the morning, and then Sanders" - he named his valet - "will be here to rearrange me." He opened his eyes and looked over at her beseechingly. "I'm sorry for setting up your bristles, aunt. I do seem always to make such a mull of things." His aunt's features softened somewhat and she returned to his side, bending to kiss his cheek, just as she had done when he was a child.

"You do," she reassured him dryly. "But I am very glad to see you, in any case, James."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: In honour of yesterday's first episode of series 10, another chapter... Finally, a knot is tied. Hope you enjoy...**

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><p>Miss Evershed did not, however, obtain much of the sleep she had planned for herself. At six o'clock sharp, she was awoken abruptly by the clattering of iron and the screech of the housemaid as she opened the study door and discovered James sprawled in front of the fire. With a groan of complaint, Ruth rose, washed and dressed herself and went downstairs. It seemed it would be a long day.<p>

The maid was seated on a chair in the hall, on the verge of a swooning fit, while James stood by, looking disoriented - his neckcloth was askew, and his usually carefully arranged hair was mussed. He shot his aunt an apologetic look as she descended the stairs. She gestured him back into the study, and he retreated gratefully, shutting the door behind him with a soft snap. MIss Evershed bent down beside the maid, who, she recalled, would not have ever seen the youngest Mr Bailey, and quietly explained the situation, handing over her smelling salts as she did so. Once the maid had been comforted and returned to her duties, Ruth herself took her recently vacated chair and covered her face with her hands, unsure whether she ought to laugh or cry. It was whilst in this state that she heard more footsteps descending the stairs - Edward, awoken by the downstairs commotion, and thus in a foul temper.

"Ruth! What the devil is going on?" he asked sharply. She took a steadying breath, arose, and wordlessly opened the study door for him. James leapt up at the sight of his father, a guilty schoolboy once more. Edward's face darkened, too used to his son's wayward larks to believe that his presence here now betokened anything other than severe trouble, and Ruth made a hasty exit. The study door slammed, echoing around the house, and soon the sound of raised male voices could be heard. Pausing in her own room, Miss Evershed allowed herself the luxury of feeling how exhausted she was. She had never enjoyed quarrels - she had been forced to endure too many between her parents as a small child - and they always upset her composure now. A few tears dotted her cheeks, which she hastily wiped away at the sound of Samantha entering her room, expecting her to be still abed.

"Oh! Good morning, ma'am! I thought you'd be asleep and dreaming still, what with you working all the hours God sends and more for Miss Elizabeth," was the reproving greeting Ruth was awarded, in soft Scots. Forcing a smile, she turned around and accepted a pile of her freshly laundered linen from her maid. "Not at all, Samantha. I'm quite well."

Samantha frowned anxiously. "But, miss, you've not slept a full night for nearly a month now, and you're very pale…"

Ruth laughed. "Thank you! I am sure whenever I need a compliment, my dear, I shall come straight to you!"

The maid blushed deeply, and began to stammer apologies, but Ruth laid a friendly hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad for your concern," she reassured her seriously. "But I shall manage quite well if only I can rest for a moment after lunch."

Samantha, who had begun arranging the linen in a drawer, tutted darkly, and informed her mistress, "I don't see that that's at all likely, with the master and Mr James downstairs, both flying up into the boughs! They should have more thought for you and Miss Elizabeth is all I can say, ma'am…" Ruth let Samantha chatter on, venting her spleen over the careless behaviour of men, as she prepared herself fully for the day ahead. She was not optimistic.

The next few days passed in a depressing succession of quarrels, angry silences and curt words from both James and his father. Ruth did what she could to qualify their mutual irritation, and comfort Elizabeth, whose initial delight at the sight of the brother whom she loved best and who was closest in age to herself was being tempered somewhat by the consequences of his sudden appearance, but her efforts were largely in vain. Fortunately, the wedding was now too close for petty familial disagreements to dominate for too long, and before the week was out, Edward had managed to come to some sort of peace with his wayward son, and Ruth could breathe a sigh of relief.

All the preparations for the wedding had been successfully completed, and now Ruth could turn her attention to the other pressing matter of her removal from Upper Wimpole Street. Bandboxes, trunks and all manner of boxes were taken by carriage to Lady Radford's in the days preceding the wedding, and by its eve, Ruth could count on the fingers of one hand the number of her personal possessions that remained in Edward's house. Miss Evershed lay in bed that night, relief swamping her. Tomorrow, it would all be over and she could rest at peace for a while. She had spoken to Elizabeth already about the wedding night, determined that her niece would not be as shockingly unprepared and naive as many girls of her station were. Her gown for the morrow, ordered specially for the occasion, hung in the wardrobe, along with a plainer dress for later, when she would return to Upper Wimpole Street for the last time to remove her remaining belongings. A slight smile on her face, Miss Evershed sank into a deep sleep.

The wedding of Miss Elizabeth Bailey to Captain Dimitri Levendis of the -th Regiment, on 10th July 1812, was, everyone agreed, a wonderful day. The bride was blooming, the groom handsome, and both very much in love. The bride's aunt remained very much in the background of the celebrations, watching everything, filled with pride, love and happiness, glad that her hard work over the past month had been worthwhile. Elizabeth and her husband were constantly surrounded by a crowd of well-wishers, and Ruth only regretted that she would not have much of a chance to speak to her niece.

She was wrong, however. The bridal coach drew up outside the Baileys' house, and Captain Levendis grasped his wife's hand, ready to draw her from the room. At the last moment, however, Elizabeth caught up Ruth's hand with a murmur of, "Come and say farewell, aunt!" and pulled her from the room as well. Outside, as Dimitri exchanged pleasantries with his groom, giving his bride a little time alone with the woman who had been as a mother to her, Elizabeth hugged her aunt fiercely. "Congratulations, my darling!" Ruth told her sincerely. "You shall be so very happy, I am sure."

Elizabeth brushed away a tear and nodded, trying to smile. "I know I shall, Aunt Ruth. But I shall be so lost without you! When we go to Spain, I am sure Dimitri and I would deal twice as well with each other if you were to be there too."

Ruth chuckled incredulously. "Spain? At my age? Nonsense, child. I shall be quite content here."

Elizabeth pulled a face, clearly not impressed by her aunt's words. "I shall write as often as I can, you know," she promised sincerely. "But, you know, you are not so very old, aunt - only six and thirty. It is only bringing up the boys and me that has made you feel older, I daresay." An apologetic look flashed over her face as she added, "We plagued you most dreadfully at one time, I think."

Ruth laughed at her niece's honesty, and hugged her once more. "Yes, you did… But I would not have had it otherwise, Beth."

And then Dimitri approached, kissed his aunt's cheek quickly, and took his bride's hand once more. Beth squeezed Ruth's hand, there was a faint, "Goodbye!", then both entered the carriage and drove away. Ruth held her hand up, waving at the retreating vehicle until it had turned the street corner and vanished entirely.

A deep sense of loss enveloped her and she remained standing on the steps of the house for several minutes, composing herself, before she felt equal to returning to the house. As she shut the door behind her, a voice sounded behind her. "You will feel the loss of your niece deeply, Miss Evershed." It was Sir Henry. Pausing for a moment in surprise, Ruth turned and flashed him a wan smile, wondering why she suddenly felt much warmer than she had done a moment ago. Her cheeks felt strangely as if they were flushing. His face was filled with concern, and he held two wine glasses in his hands, one of which he offered to her. She accepted it gratefully and took a sip before replying.

"I shall. I am being exceedingly selfish, I am sure. I am very happy for Elizabeth, very happy indeed, and yet…" She broke off, searching for the words to describe the tumult of feelings lodged in her heart at present.

Sir Henry smiled kindly, and suggested helpfully, "And yet you feel as though everything has been irrevocably altered." Ruth recalled their meeting with his daughter at Somerset House, and wondered if he was speaking from personal experience. He had admitted to her his disapproval at the time of the choice his daughter had made, and she could guess the regret that had followed it. She nodded thoughtfully, grateful for his ability to put into words that which she could not. "That is just it. Foolish of me."

He shook his head. "I have never heard you utter a foolish sentiment, ma'am. One might argue that you have lost a daughter today." His words echoed so closely her current feelings that her head twisted sharply to stare into his eyes, amazed at his perception and the way in which he coincided perfectly with her. Hesitantly, she explained, "When my sister died, I was… glad to come here and be a mother to Elizabeth. I was glad for the occupation." Ruth felt that she did not need to explain, to this kind, gentle man, the sort of life that Elizabeth and her brothers had saved her from - her remaining love and loyalty to her late father had meant that she had never been welcome in her stepfather's house and he had only tolerated her presence there because of her quiet way of making herself useful to her mother. And yet she had refused to ask Lady Radford for help, especially during the last illness of Lord Radford, which had eventually led to his death. She had felt trapped and miserable, and the news of Susannah's death had broken on her, after the initial grief had faded, as a wave of freedom. At Upper Wimpole Street, she had been given an allowance of her own, and had been placed in a position of love and authority with the children, who, as they had grown, had come to trust in and rely on her as much as, if not more than, they did their father.

Sir Henry, sensing from the way her face had closed up that the memories she was reliving were not pleasant, prompted her gently, "And now, Miss Evershed? What shall occupy your time now?"

Forcing herself back to the far happier present, Ruth finished her glass of wine. "Oh, I do not require lavish entertainments or anything of that sort. Pleasant company, mental activity and the sense that I am doing good in some way to somebody - that is all I need to be perfectly content, sir." He chuckled, eyes alive with enjoyment at this marvel's way of speaking.

"Then," he informed her, raising his glass in a silent toast, "the _ton_ have much to learn from you, Miss Evershed. In fact, as an aid to your perfect contentment, perhaps you would allow me to escort you to the balloon ascension at Hyde Park next Tuesday. I cannot vouch for my being entirely pleasant company, but I think the science of ballooning will engage your mind, and you will certainly be doing some good to somebody."

Her eyebrows rose in curiosity and she tilted her head on one side in that birdlike way of hers of which he had come to be very fond. She could not deny that she was flattered by Sir Henry's invitation, and the idea of seeing a balloon ascension was certainly exciting… His last words, however, puzzled her. "How so, sir?" she asked. A pained expression crossed Sir Henry's face and he admitted ruefully, "I am to escort Captain Carter's young son, Wesley, also, since his father is obliged to be in the country on business for much of the week."

Ruth's eyes widened. "I was not aware that Captain Carter had a son!"

Her companion nodded sadly. "Yes - seven years' old. Unfortunately, his mother was a rather daring rider, and she died when Wesley was five. Broke her neck jumping a fence whilst hunting. Carter was devastated - he has never truly recovered from her loss."

Ruth raised a hand to cover her mouth, much shocked. "How awful!" she murmured. "Poor child…"

Sir Henry shifted awkwardly on his feet. "Indeed." Silence fell for a moment as Ruth absorbed this hitherto unknown information. Mrs Carter must have been brave to the point of recklessness, and her son and husband had suffered deeply as a consequence. And yet, Captain Carter had been all that was amiable on the few occasions she had met with him. Perhaps it required a person such as Sir Henry, then, whom Ruth understood to have known the captain for much of the latter's adult life, to notice such grief in him that was not visible to a casual observer such as herself.

At last, Sir Henry heaved a profound sigh and straightened his shoulders. "In any case, Carter named me the boy's godfather, so I am rather obliged to engage in such activities, but I fear I was not the wisest choice for such a position. I would appreciate your steadying influence, if you should find it agreeable to accompany us." His words, to Ruth's mind, were those of an man anxious in the company of children. His own were long-since grown, of course, but it was odd that he seemed so ill-at-ease with the idea of such an expedition. Had he never done such things with his son? Smilingly, Ruth explained, "My experience of small boys is long disused, and I have no knowledge whatsoever of ballooning, sir, but I should be glad to accompany you."

His shoulders almost sagged with relief, but he quickly recovered his composure. A light twinkled in his warm brown eyes, and he inquired teasingly, "Despite the lack of inducement offered by my company?"

"Not at all!" she exclaimed. "Your company has always been pleasant to me, sir." The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she realised the way in which they could be interpreted. A ruddy blush flooded her cheeks, and it was perhaps lucky that the door to the drawing room opened at that moment to reveal James. His face lit up at the sight of Ruth and he approached, with a cheerful, "Hello, aunt! Have Beth and Levendis already gone?" Ruth suppressed a smile - despite being a very loving sibling, James could sometimes be utterly careless and self-involved - and nodded. James shrugged his disappointment with almost comic grace. Ruth, however, sensing Sir Henry's gaze upon her nephew, added, "James, might I introduce you to Sir Henry Pearce? Sir Henry, my youngest nephew James."

The two men bowed to each other. After a moment's pause, James's face brightened. "I believe I am acquainted with your son, sir. Graham Pearce? We frequent the same club when in London, you see, and -"

His bright outburst was checked by the coldness that had taken up residence in Sir Henry's usually pleasant face. "Indeed? How providential…" He had become distracted, Ruth could tell, and it all seemed to be derived from James's last words. Abruptly he bowed to Miss Evershed.

"Forgive me, ma'am. I am obliged to be elsewhere - I have lingered here too long already. I shall call for you at twelve o'clock on Tuesday, if that is agreeable?"

Ruth barely had time to nod her assent, before he summoned a footman for his coat. Bowing again over Miss Evershed's hand, and inclining his head briefly in James's direction, he was gone. The door shut behind him with a snap and James exhaled loudly. "Well, what a disagreeable fellow! Just as his son speaks of him!"

Ruth frowned, strangely displeased by this judgement of the baronet's character and laid a cautionary hand on James's arm. "Sir Henry is not so abrupt as that as a rule, James. He has always shown me the utmost civility and amiability. His son may think of him in a certain way, but it is not your business to echo his sentiments." James shrugged his shoulders again, carelessly, and persisted, "But Graham has never a good word to speak of him, Aunt Ruth, and I must speak as I find."

Calmly, Ruth began her return to the drawing room. "As must I, James. And I find Sir Henry kind, well-informed and not at all deserving of your censure."

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><p>Finally, the day was over. Ruth collected her remaining belongings, and locked her bedroom door for the last time. Edward himself awaited her downstairs. She handed him the key, which he tucked somewhere about his person, and accepted the hand he held out to her. "Goodbye, Ruth," he said, and there seemed to be more warmth in his voice than she had ever heard there before.<p>

Softly she smiled up at him. "Goodbye, Edward. I have left the household accounts in good order, and the menus for next week have all been discussed with Mrs Lane already."

He shook his head in wonderment. "Thank you." Ruth looked towards the door, but Edward was still holding her hand, a troubled look on his usually austere face. "I wish… I wish that you might call on me, should you have need of assistance in any way, Ruth," he added finally. Her eyes widened, unused as she was to any sort of kindness from her brother in law. "Of course, Edward," she replied with not a little awkwardness.

He nodded and released her hand slowly - only to lean down and kiss her suddenly on the mouth, arms wrapping around her tightly. Shocked and angry, Ruth wrenched herself out of his grasp. "How dare you?" she gasped. "How dare you treat me like this?"

Edward withdrew, also breathing heavily. "Ruth… Ruth, I love you. I have always loved you, even when I married Susannah, even when you were raising my children - "

Miss Evershed felt faint. She groped behind her for a chair and sat down heavily in it. Edward followed her, kneeling at her side. "Edward," she began steadily, "you must not say these things. There are few people in the world whom I trust and respect more, but I have never been in love with you. My sister deserves your loyalty in death, even if she never had your love in life."

He growled impatiently. "So you would rather become a governess, undervalued, _reduced_, than marry and be comfortable. I know I have given you little enough reason to be happy in this house, Ruth, but I care deeply for you. For your welfare and comfort." His face and voice were pleading, and Ruth couldn't help softening slightly as she rested a hand on his arm. His feelings appeared sincere, even if the mode of their expression had been a little uncouth.

"Thank you, Edward. I am very grateful, but you must understand that nothing of that sort can ever exist between us. Now, I should like to forget that this conversation ever happened."

She rose, detached the arm that he had somehow twined about her waist, picked up her last bandbox, and walked slowly to the door. On the threshold, she chanced to look back. Edward knelt where she had left him, one broad hand covering his face. "Goodbye, Edward," she repeated finally. He did not reply.

Miss Evershed walked outside into the early evening sunshine, her mood at utter odds with the weather. Surrendering her bandbox to one of Lady Radford's grooms, Ruth entered the carriage, and rested her head back against the cushions. Finally, her tears flowed freely, her body at last accepting the fact that it was thoroughly exhausted. Miss Evershed allowed the salty droplets to flow unhindered for several minutes before she came to her senses. She had several months of Lady Radford's wonderful company to look forward to, not to mention the prospect of continuing her acquaintance with Sir Henry, and the city would soon be exchanged for the country, which would provide an additional source of happiness to her. She was really being very foolish; many people had far worse problems than she, and far fewer opportunities for wallowing in self-pity. Sitting up straight, Miss Evershed wiped away her tears and fixed a determined smile upon her rather pale face. She would be happy if it killed her.

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><p><strong>AN: Next time - life with Lady Radford, and high jinks at the balloon ascension...<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Sorry for the shockingly long gap between the last chapter and this one - life has been horridly hectic recently. It's not the balloon ascension yet, but a little filler that was a lot of fun to write...**

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><p>One of the many wonderful things about Lady Radford was that she did not ask awkward questions. When Miss Evershed arrived at her home half an hour later, with red, swollen eyes - clear tokens of weeping - her godmother merely asked her abigail, Gibbons, to show Ruth upstairs to her bedroom and to bring some tea. Once both of these tasks had been completed, and Ruth had been settled in the drawing room, her ladyship began to talk of inconsequential matters, and an evening that Ruth had believed would be very gloomy, due to her loss of Elizabeth, passed off cheerfully and in great comfort. But despite all this, nothing could banish Ruth's weariness and by ten o-clock, she was fighting to keep her eyes open. At last, she rose, with difficulty, and bade her godmother goodnight.<p>

Lady Radford kissed her cheek fondly. "Goodnight, my dear. I am so very glad that you are here." But, as Miss Evershed left the room, her ladyship was already looking forward to the day, which would come soon enough, when her goddaughter would leave her house forever, in the company of one of the _ton_'s worthiest men…

After the tumult of the wedding, Miss Evershed permitted herself two days rest from society, which she occupied with reading, writing to Elizabeth and settling into her new home. In the evenings, she and Lady Radford talked, read aloud, or amused themselves with the pianoforte. But this peace could not last, of course. Lady Radford was a society hostess, after all, and despite the fact that Parliament had risen several weeks ago, enough people had been induced by the cooler weather to remain in London later than usual. Thus, several small gatherings were being held - card parties, dinners and even a ball. Miss Evershed attended these functions with resignation, unhappy to discover that Sir Henry had left town for a few days, in order to conclude some business regarding his country estate, and would only return in time for Tuesday's balloon ascension. She was fast becoming foolish enough that no social function could give her pleasure unless he too was present, for a short conversation, or the sharing of a jest regarding one or another of their mutual acquaintance, or even just for a snatched exchange of smiles across a room too crowded to be crossed. Lady Radford's acquaintance was, of course, large, and she determinedly introduced Ruth to whoever they met at these functions, fully aware even as she did so that her goddaughter would not be returned to spirits until Sir Henry was returned to London.

But it was at a card party held by some distant relation of Lady Radford, that Miss Evershed made her most significant acquaintance of those miserable days. She had just risen from a loo table, where she had been observing Mrs North, an accomplished player, and had turned towards the faro table, where Lady Radford was currently engaged, when a man of roughly the same age as Sir Henry approached her with an expression betokening a wish of speaking to her. She halted her progress and so too did the man, who offered her a glass of wine. Ruth raised an eyebrow and shook her head. He smiled thinly at her and introduced himself with a flourishing bow, "Oliver Mace. And you, ma'am, are Miss Ruth Evershed, Lady Radford's goddaughter."

Ruth frowned, disliking how much this man seemed to know about her. But the social niceties still had to be observed, so she curtsied politely and replied, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Mace."

He shook his head and elaborated coolly, "I think not, Miss Evershed. You are rather wondering how I know so much about you, and why, with the experience of several seasons' behind you, you have not made my acquaintance before now."

Ruth looked away. He was sharp. So was Sir Henry, but his sharpness had never made her feel uncomfortable, as this man's did. Mace was watching her closely, and had Miss Evershed's eyes been upon him, she would have noticed the flicker of a nasty smirk play across his thin mouth, before his rich voice murmured, in barely audible tones, "I'm an old acquaintance of Sir Henry Pearce, Miss Evershed - a name which I think will be more familiar to you. You are, I believe, his latest _paramour_."

Ruth's head shot up and she turned to him with a stunned expression on her face. "You are mistaken, sir," she informed him firmly. "Sir Henry and I are good friends, and nothing more, despite what the _ton_ may say."

Mr Mace laughed shortly. "Such a proper reply, Miss Evershed!" He withdrew a gold watch from his pocket and examined it for a moment before snapping it shut and returning it to its place. "Well, in any case, do pass on my regards to him when next your paths cross. I've been absent from England for so long, I sometimes thought I'd never have an opportunity of speaking with him again."

Miss Evershed inclined her head coldly, and Mace bowed and departed the room. She realised that her hands were shaking and the hairs on the back of her neck had risen. She certainly intended to mention Mr Mace to Sir Henry, if only to see the look on his face when she did. Something told her that it would not be one of pleasure.

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><p><strong>AN: So, what will Harry's reaction be? I hope to get more written soon...<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Hi, everyone! Sorry for the humungous delay in posting this chapter... Hopefully this will make up for it... **

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><p>Fortunately, the next day was Tuesday, and Miss Evershed was up early to dress for her outing, scolding herself somewhat for taking three quarters of an hour merely to decide which gown to wear. At last, she chose a short-sleeved cambric walking dress in a becoming shade of blue and her most comfortable half-boots. Lady Radford, much amused by the amount of care her usually pragmatic niece was taking over her appearance, could only press a cup of chocolate and several slices of toast upon her for breakfast, and hide her smiles at Ruth's obvious distraction. The morning was spent in near-total silence on Ruth's part, and by half-past eleven, she had risen to pull on thin cotton gloves and a light spencer jacket in readiness for Sir Henry's arrival.<p>

Miss Evershed was nervous. This was the first time that she and Sir Henry had planned any sort of outing together, although he had occasionally accompanied Lady Radford and herself to social events. In fact, it would be the first time that any man had wished to escort her anywhere for a very long time. Irritated by her own quivering hands, she dug her nails into her gloved palms and took a last look in the mirror. Fortunately, Sir Henry was known for his punctuality. As the grandfather clock in the hall was striking the hour, a sharp rap came on the door and Berry stepped briskly forwards to answer it. Sir Henry waited there, his head twisted round to keep a sharp eye on the small boy who already sat in the landau. Miss Evershed stepped briskly forwards and passed out of the door, leaving Berry to cast an admiring glance at her as she was helped into the carriage by Sir Henry. At close range, Master Carter was of average height and build for his age, with a mop of bright blonde hair and glowingly intelligent hazel eyes. He flashed Ruth a bashful grin, showing off a gap where he must have recently lost a milk tooth, as she settled into the seat next to him, and said in a halting voice, "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Evershed."

Then, to Sir Henry, who had just entered the carriage and was seated opposite them, he asked in a stage-whisper, "Was that right, Uncle Harry?"

Sir Henry choked down a laugh, and replied solemnly, "Very good, Wesley." His eyes, however, glimmered with amusement as he smiled at Ruth. He was not driving himself today, so he could devote his entire attention to his companions. Wesley was clearly highly excited by the prospect of the balloon ascension, and, being an obviously bright boy, was more than happy to discuss his recently gained knowledge of the subject with the less enlightened Ruth. Sir Henry allowed him to chatter on for most of the journey, and then, when he could no longer hold in his frustration at not having spoken much above the commonplace to Ruth since he had called upon her that morning, he smiled and announced, "I took the liberty of asking my cook to prepare a packed nuncheon for us, Miss Evershed. I understand that balloon ascensions can be rather time-consuming."

Ruth smiled and nodded. "So I have heard." SIlence fell for a moment, and then she said, "I trust that your business in the country was concluded to your satisfaction?"

Sir Henry inclined his head, silent thanks for her inquiry. "Quite well, thank you. I shall be delighted to remove to Middlethorpe next week - at my age, Miss Evershed, one finds that each Season drags more than the last."

Ruth gave a short laugh, hidden behind her hand. Amused, she replied, "I must confess that I am beginning to agree with you. Even as a girl, the Season held little interest for me. I had no intention of marrying, after all." She sobered somewhat, and added, "At sixteen, I saw all the disadvantages of marriage, and none of its virtues…" Her voice faded away, suddenly aware that she had drawn their conversation into an entirely improper vein. Sir Henry reached out hesitantly and briefly clasped her gloved hand. The warmth of his fingers seemed to sink into her very bones. "I think that, in our youth, Miss Evershed, we all of us form impressions which are later proved incorrect."

She nodded and forced herself back to cheerfulness. "Aye - and now I must content myself with being a wise old maid!"

He frowned, his hand seemed to tighten on hers, and a look of query flashed across her face. He opened his mouth to speak, but too late - Master Carter, who had been eagerly looking out at the streets and houses passing him by and not paying the least attention to the conversation of his elders, cried out, "We're here! Look, Uncle Harry, I can see the balloon!" Sir Henry's hand withdrew from Miss Evershed's, and he turned his attention to Wesley's amusement as the landau was guided by the capable hands of Sir Henry's groom into a good position for watching the afternoon's spectacle. Hyde Park was already beginning to fill with all manner of carriages, and Master Carter was as much excited by this as by the sight of the brightly coloured silks of which the balloon was made up. Currently, the contraption was surrounded by a team of engineers receiving orders from another man, whom Miss Evershed assumed to be the aeronaut. Young Master Carter, much excited, scrambled up to stand on his seat, resting his hand on the top of Sir Henry's hat to maintain his balance. Sir Henry uttered a long-suffering sigh but made no comment to his charge, and Ruth had to raise her hand to cover a smile.

Helpfully, she suggested, "Wesley, I think we ought to eat some nuncheon, now. You shall get tired standing there if you have nothing to eat." Reluctantly, Wesley slid back down into a sitting position, as Sir Henry's groom passed over a wicker basket, and the baronet himself flashed her a grateful smile, which Ruth returned. Sir Henry's cook had outdone herself; the basket contained bread, cheeses, cold meats, a range of fruits, and some freshly baked cakes. Soon, all three occupants of the carriage were eating hungrily, leaving little opportunity for conversation. However, Wesley soon stopped eating, far too excited to consume more than a slice of bread and a morsel of cheese. He surreptitiously laid aside his plate and was just on the verge of clambering back into his former position, when Sir Henry noticed and, grasping him firmly around the shoulders, restored him to a seating position. "Wesley, I should be obliged if you would finish your meal." His voice was stern, and Wesley pouted, on the verge of childish tears.

Ruth decided that this would be an opportune moment to intervene. "It is a pity that you are not hungry, Wesley. I had planned to treat you to an ice at Gunters' after the ascension, as a thank you for allowing me to accompany you, but that would be useless if you are already full." Her tone was lightly offhand, but her words had the desired effect. Wesley returned with gusto to his meal, eyes wide as he attempted to comprehend the prospect of this afternoon of delights. Sir Henry watched him, much amused, and then murmured to Ruth, "I apologise. I sincerely did not invite you in order for you to be managing Wesley all afternoon."

She shook her head. "I am used to it. Compared to my nephews, Wesley is a model of good behaviour…"

The rest of the afternoon passed off very well. The balloon ascended safely, its brightly coloured silk showing up sharply against the cloudless blue sky, and floated away. Wesley amused his companions very much by his greatly exaggerated guesses of how far it would travel before landing, and then Sir Henry's groom began to drive the carriage from the park. As promised, young Master Carter enjoyed his ice at Gunters', paid for, despite Sir Henry's persistent protests, by Miss Evershed. By the time they had returned to the carriage, the sun was lowering in the sky, and Wesley was keeping his eyes open only with difficulty. Upon re-entering the carriage, Wesley clambered up to sit on Ruth's lap, closing his eyes gratefully and pillowing his head on her shoulder. Sir Henry looked concerned for a moment, but this faded when Miss Evershed made no sign of protest. Indeed, he could not help admitting to himself, as he sat opposite her, how much he enjoyed the sight of her cradling his godson.

The journey to Captain Carter's house was spent in quiet conversation upon commonplaces - the time they had spent apart, the news Ruth had received from Elizabeth and Captain Levendis, and the rather less pleasant news that Sir Henry had been receiving from the Continent. "My absence from town necessitated my refusal of several invitations, I fear," Sir Henry commented, when Ruth enumerated the functions she had attended over the past few days. The thought of his absence recalled to her mind her meeting with Oliver Mace, and a slight frown crossed her face. Even in the dark of the carriage, Sir Henry seemed to recognise it, and cast her a somewhat querying glance, leaning forwards to stare into her eyes.

"'Tis nothing," she smiled at last. "Merely the fact that I met an old acquaintance of yours at a card party last week. You have only just reminded me of it…"

His face brightened with curiosity. "An old acquaintance? Who, pray?"

"Oliver Mace."

The engaging smile vanished completely. Sir Henry sank back in his seat, wordless with shock. "Mace!" he uttered finally. Then, attempting to shake off a reaction which he knew would have already ignited the flame of suspicion in Miss Evershed's bright mind, he added, "I believed him to be still in America."

Ruth shook her head, trying to remember Mace's exact words. She would not make reference to the relationship he had believed to exist between herself and Sir Henry, however. "He has returned, in any case. He asked me to pass on his regards to you when next we met, and then he left… How - ?"

But the carriage had stopped, and Sir Henry had risen to receive a still-sleeping Wesley from Miss Evershed's arms. The boy stirred, but did not wake, and Ruth watched Sir Henry carry his charge to the door of Captain Carter's house, where his bundle was received by a waiting housemaid. Ruth was quite willing to resume their discussion of Mace upon his return, since her curiosity had been much piqued by Sir Henry's reaction, no matter how much she had expected it. However, from the moment of his re-entrance of the carriage, he talked so determinedly upon other subjects that Ruth felt it wise to subdue her inquisitiveness, for the present moment at least. Whatever the cause, Sir Henry and Mace were not on good terms. And Sir Henry appeared politely insistent on not revealing any more than that.

Eventually, the carriage stopped at Lady Radford's door. Sir Henry disembarked and assisted Miss Evershed down from the carriage. They stood together on the doorstep, neither knowing what to say. At last, Ruth stuttered," Th-thank you for a - a lovely day, sir." He smiled down upon her, tenderness glowing from his face, and then he slowly bent and kissed her gloved hand. "And thank _you_ for being quite yourself, Miss Evershed, as always." She wanted to ask him his meaning, but at that moment, Berry pulled opened the door and admitted his mistress's goddaughter. "Goodnight, Miss Evershed," Sir Henry finished, hiding the grimace that the butler's appearance had occasioned.

Her glowing smile mollified him much. "Goodnight, Sir Henry. And thank you, again."

He whistled all the way home.


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Sorry again for the long wait between chapters. This update is meant to introduce some more edgy elements to the story... Reviews loved, and constructive criticism very much appreciated (I'm not so happy with this update)...**

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><p>Sir Henry's happiness was very much short-lived, however. The next morning, upon arriving early at the War Office, he was met by Lucas, sober-faced, and bearing several thick-looking reports. "Harry, bad news. We've had reports that Lieutenant Quinn has been captured in France." Sir Henry passed a hand over his. Thomas Quinn was one of the War Office's best agents, and they could ill afford his loss at the present moment. Beginning to climb the main stairs to his office, Lucas following behind him, he asked tiredly, "Do we know anything of his whereabouts at present?"<p>

Lucas emitted a heavy sigh. "Unfortunately, no. He was meant to join up with Colonel Roberts' regiment two weeks ago, as you know, but he has failed to report. We can only assume that he has fallen into enemy hands."

Sir Henry opened his office door, nodding a brisk good morning to his secretary, Sergeant Wells. "Then we must all pray to God that he was captured in uniform. If he was, he will be treated as an officer and a gentleman, and we will be able to exchange him for someone. Do we have any French officers you'd be willing to release, Lucas?"

Lucas took a seat opposite Sir Henry's desk as the latter poured two glasses of whisky. "I shall speak to Captain Carter about the matter. It is, after all, his area of expertise."

The alternative was left unspoken. If Lieutenant Quinn had _not_ been found in uniform, then he would be treated, quite naturally, as a spy, and sent to Paris for questioning. And afterwards… Harry grimaced and handed one of the glasses to Lucas. "Very well. In the meantime, we should send someone to investigate the locations where Quinn should have deposited information. We can't afford to lose anything he may have discovered. Boney's a clever beggar, and we need to keep on top of him."

Lucas drained his glass in silence, and then, slightly hesitantly, added, "Sir, have you heard that Oliver Mace is back in London?"

Sir Henry's face darkened even further and he nodded curtly. "Yes. He made Miss Evershed's acquaintance last week at a card party, and made inquiries about me."

Lucas raised his eyebrows and exhaled loudly. "Ruth? Good God, Harry, how did he even know you were acquainted with her?"

Harry turned away and looked out of the window, nursing his tumbler of whisky. "The Lord knows. He was always a slippery fellow - that's the only reason he isn't locked away in the hull of some rotting ship with the rats as we speak." Bitterness bled into his voice, and his hand clenched around his drink. Lucas sighed. "It wasn't your fault, Harry. The man has friends at Court - of course we couldn't expect to gather any evidence against him." Sir Henry's scowl deepened, as his mind returned to events of several years ago.

They had almost had him. Covert communications being passed between Mace and a French intelligence officer. Meetings arranged on both sides of the Channel. Lucas had even retrieved some of the messages. But they had disappeared, mysteriously, and in the absence of any evidence of his treachery, Mace had been released, to embark upon an extended tour of America. And now he was back. Sir Henry snapped his fingers. "If Mace isn't here on some devil's errand, I'll be damned," he stated firmly. "Wells!" he added, raising his voice.

Sergeant Wells appeared in the doorway, and saluted his superiors briskly. "Sir?"

"Put a man to watching Oliver Mace. I want all his movements reported directly to me."

His secretary did not dare to argue.

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><p>Worse was to come. Breakfasting the next morning at home, Sir Henry was interrupted over his kippers and boiled eggs by the arrival of an old acquaintance. "A - gentleman - has called, sir," announced his butler disapprovingly. "A Mr. Alec White, I believe." His master's face darkened considerably and he passed a weary hand across suddenly tired eyes.<p>

"Send him in, Hill. And perhaps you would be so good as to bring me a large glass of brandy."

Hill had been Sir Henry's butler for thirty years, so he merely raised his eyebrows and bowed. "As you wish, sir."

Alec White, with all the appearance of a dandy of reduced circumstances, entered shortly afterwards accompanied by the brandy. Sir Henry eyed him rather nervously for a moment, took a sip of his brandy, and then asked, "Well? How does he?"

Mr White reached into his coat and withdrew his pocket book, from which he extracted several sheets of paper. He passed them to Sir Henry, who opened and examined them, eyes wide. He remained absorbed thus for several minutes, until White coughed gently and spoke. "Harry, there's something else. There's talk - at his club, at the gaming hells, you know the sort of places - that he's…" He paused, unable to frame the words he wished to utter.

His old friend looked up sharply. "He has done what?"

Alec leant back in his chair. "He's become involved with a girl - a merchant's daughter of some sort. A Miss Walter."

"Involved? How?"

"A man of mine told me the story, from a girl who works in Mr Walter's house. Apparently, she was promised to the heir of the Earl of Fotherton. And she… she left her father's house last Saturday morning and the word is that she has entered lodgings with…" He did not need to finish his sentence.

Sir Henry sat back in his chair, utterly stunned. When he spoke, finally, his voice was hoarse and disbelieving. "Do you mean to tell me that the boy has seduced a respectable girl into living with him in sin? Impossible!" He rose and paced the room, before ringing the bell that lay on a side table with far more force than was strictly necessary. Hill entered once more. "Hill, tell Henley" - he named his groom - "to have the carriage ready in ten minutes."

"Yes, sir. The barouche, sir?"

Sir Henry looked up from burning the pieces of paper given to him by White. "Yes. No, stay - call me up a hackney instead."

"Yes, sir."

The door shut again. Alec raised his eyebrows. "Will confronting him do any good, Harry?" he asked bracingly.

His friend clenched one hand and brought it down in the palm of the other. "The Lord knows. But I must try." He paused, looking suddenly rather lost. "He's my son."

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><p>Graham Pearce's lodgings were located in a less than salubrious area of London, presided over by a thin greying woman, dressed in drab brown linen. Sir Henry was immediately glad he had not brought his own horses into such a place - like as not, they would have been stolen before he could return to them. "Graham Pearce?" he asked the woman, having been admitted into a narrow passage. "Upstairs, second door to the right. Although I doubt he'll be awake at this time of the morning, sir," she replied disapprovingly.<p>

"Indeed?" the reprobate's father bit out icily, and began to climb the stairs.

He did not bother knocking at the door, but merely turned the handle, and edged gingerly past the thin planks of wood as a few flakes of paint dropped noiselessly to the ground.

To his surprise, his son was seated at a small table, along with a young woman whom Sir Henry imagined to be Miss Walter. Graham jumped up at his father's sudden appearance, and Miss Walter rose too, frightened but with a steely look in her eye that Sir Henry disliked at once. "Father!"

"A moment of your time, Graham. I'm sure Miss Walter will excuse us."

The girl chanced a look between the two men, but Graham laid a reassuring (and all-too-familiar) hand on her shoulder, and nodded. She disappeared through a second door, presumably leading to a bedroom.

"Sit down, Graham," Harry suggested lightly. His son remained mulishly standing.

"If you've come to warn me away from Helen, then you've had a wasted journey, sir," his son declared at once.

Sir Henry inclined his head. "How unfortunate. You know Fotherton's boy is still after her? Willing to marry her still even under such circumstances, or so the gossip goes. Don't be a fool, Graham - send the girl back to her father before she's entirely ruined."

"Impossible. I intend to marry her."

His father drew in a sharp breath. "_Marry_ her? You haven't a shilling to bless yourself with, let alone support a wife. A thousand owing to Lord Stokesbury, another five hundred to the Marquis of Corncourt - must I continue?"

Graham's face had become white and set. "You have been spying on me, sir."

"A man has the right, I think, to know how his money is being spent." He paused, allowing the full effect of his words to sink in. "No father would consent to marry his daughter to you, not when he has Fotherton's heir dangling after her."

Graham took a step forward. "Not all fathers are as stiff as you, sir. When Helen and I are married, her father will soon accept the matter. I will be a baronet one day, after all, and Mother's fortune reverts to me on my marriage. We will have enough."

Sir Henry did not think he had ever been so angry as he was now. "You think I would let Middlethorpe and the baronetcy pass into your hands? You are mistaken. My purse has been open to you thus far, Graham, but be warned: continue with this tom-fool scheme, and it will close forever. You will be dead to me."

There was silence for a moment, apart from the heavy breathing of two ireful men, and then Sir Henry recalled something. His lip curled. "But of course," he breathed softly. "You do not intend to marry her. Had you wanted that, you could have been at the border by now, married over the anvil. She's an amusement to you, and nothing else. Once she ceases to be so, you'll cast her off and continue as you were before. You disgust me."

His son slammed a hand down on the table. "We are not criminals! We have nothing to hide! Helen will be twenty-one in a week, and then we may marry here, respectably and openly."

His father scoffed. "Respectably? There's nothing respectable about this affair. I wonder that her father has not already been here."

His son looked away. "He came yesterday, but she would not go with him. He won't consent to a marriage, but once Helen is of age, he will have no choice but to accept it." His face was hard. "Catherine is happy with her choice - why shall not Helen be so too?"

The mention of his daughter drew colour back to Sir Henry's cheeks. There was clearly no more left to say. He touched his hat angrily, and placed his hand once more on the door. "Do as you wish. But remember my words. I will not go back on them, Graham."

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><p>The War Office was a welcome distraction from further thoughts of Graham that day. No word had yet been had of Lieutenant Quinn, and his superiors were growing more desperate, as they always did when an agent was missing. Lucas entered Sir Henry's office at about 4 o'clock. "Harry, we need to send a man to France to try to discover whatever information Quinn may have hidden at his drop site…" The decision was clearly to be his, Harry thought wearily. He paused for a moment, glancing over the list of active officers that Lucas handed him.<p>

Then a vicious smile crossed his face. "I know just the fellow."

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><p><strong>AN: Just who is Sir Henry sending to France? What are Graham and Helen going to do? Was this a very badly written interlude? :P<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: A speedier update as a thank you for all the lovely reviews for the last chapter. A bit more Ruth here...**

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><p>"Where should I put these books, miss?"<p>

Ruth looked up from arranging her desk, pushing a loose dark curl behind her ear, and paused to answer the footman's enquiry. "Over in that trunk there, please, John. I shan't need them again before I depart for Kieley." The footman followed her instructions, quietly leaving the room afterwards. Miss Evershed sat down in the one uncovered chair in the room with a sigh - in two days time she would be leaving London, finally, to go to Kieley and Lady Radford. The elderly lady, fatigued by several entertainments that she and Ruth had attended in the last week, had decided to go to the country a few days early, leaving Ruth behind to follow at her leisure. The arrangement worried Ruth somewhat; as far as she could remember, Lady Radford had never admitted to any sort of genuine fatigue or illness. A frown furrowed her brow and she could not quite quell the suspicion that her godmother was hiding something from her…

A knock sounded on the door and Berry entered. He had been torn between returning to Kieley with his mistress, or remaining in London with Miss Evershed, but Lady Radford had soon settled the matter - Ruth would be in far more need of a butler than she herself, shut up in the country, would be, for the next few days at least. He bowed stiffly and announced, "Sir Henry Pearce has called, ma'am. Should I send him in, or are you too busy to receive him?" Ruth stood up, all thoughts of Lady Radford pushed aside, if not forgotten.

"Send him in, Berry," she replied, more calmly than she felt. Berry bowed once more and left the room. Ruth heard low voices, footsteps and then Sir Henry was shown in. As had become his custom now, he walked frankly up to her and shook her hand whilst Ruth looked around for another chair that had not been wrapped up in linen sheets by Lady Radford's exceedingly efficient housemaids. Sir Henry must have sensed her distraction, however, for he smiled and told her, "Do not trouble yourself to find a chair, Miss Evershed. I have merely come to wish you a safe journey to Kieley and to ask you to send my best wishes to Lady Radford."

Ruth smiled in return and remained standing also. "I do not depart until the day after tomorrow, sir," she reminded him archly.

He shook his head. "Yes, but I myself am departing from London today, on business, and do not think to see you again… for some time."

A pang of sadness flashed through her heart and she looked curiously up into his face. "But your business will not take so much time as to keep you from Middlethorpe for more than a few weeks, surely, sir? Lady Radford and I were rather hoping that we might receive you at Kieley for Christmas."

He appeared somehow distracted, and his answer when it came was somewhat confused. "I had hoped…" He stopped, closed his eyes, paused, and then continued with a visible effort, "….But that may not come to be… I cannot say how long my business will take, that is - I should not like to give you disappointment…"

Sir Henry trailed off once more, a frown creasing his face and making him look more careworn than ever. Worried, Ruth murmured, "I am persuaded, sir, that you… you could never disappoint me."

He attempted to shrug off his gloom, but was not entirely successful. "Forgive me. Should time allow it, I would be delighted to accept your invitation. I cannot yet say what my situation will be. Forgive me."

Ruth shook her head. "I understand, of course."

He nodded somewhat sadly. Silence fell, whilst each tried to think of something more to say that would prolong their meeting, Sir Henry staring searchingly, almost hungrily at Ruth's face, as if trying to memorise it. At last, he gave up and bowed once more. "I must go. Goodbye, Miss Evershed."

His voice sounded so final that Ruth replied more firmly than she ordinarily would have done. "Goodbye, Sir Henry - _for the present_."

He clasped her hand once more, squeezing her fingers as though trying to burn their imprint into his palm, and then he was gone.

Ruth sat down and covered her face with her hands. His visit had brought her little joy and she could not help remembering her meeting with Mr Mace, and Sir Henry's reaction to it. She sighed. "_When sorrows come, they come not single spies but in battalions_…"

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><p>The wind blew strongly about the two men as they waited on the dockside. Around them, the crew of His Majesty's Ship Stalwart made last-minute preparations for their mission to France. Lucas glanced out at the chopping waves of the sea and frowned in worry. "Are you sure you should be doing this, Harry? You've not been in the field for…" His voice trailed off at the stern look his superior flashed at him.<p>

"Of course. Lucas, I trained Tom Quinn myself. It's my responsibility to discover whatever information he may have left for us, and bring it back." He did not add that France was currently a more appealing option to him than England. Graham's disgrace bit at him like a knife, and his relationship with Miss Evershed was reaching a point where concealment would no longer be possible. For God's sake, he'd almost proposed to her in her godmother's drawing room yesterday morning! And there were still too many things to show her about himself, before he could risk a proposal. He would not make an offer until he was utterly sure that nothing could happen in future years to destroy whatever happiness they might have together. He had not quite realised how much she had captured him, until he had been standing in that room, alone but for her, with her soulful blue eyes gazing up at him with such trust and, dare he speculate, admiration. The force of will needed to tear himself away from her had been terrific, and the power of such an attachment scared him somewhat. He had never felt such a way about a woman before - not even, he remembered guiltily, about his late wife.

Tearing himself away from his thoughts, he accepted his passport (forged, of course, and bearing a false, French, name) from Lucas and slipped it inside the pocket of his caped driving coat. "In any case, I speak fluent French, which will make the whole process far easier than it would be for any one of the pups you and Carter are training," he added briskly.

Lucas nodded, but he still appeared worried. "Take care, sir," he advised, shaking his commanding officer's hand. A smile suddenly crossed his face, relieving it somewhat from the tension it had been under. "I think Ruth may be rather angry if you do not, in any case."

Harry remained straight-faced. "I couldn't possibly comment. Goodbye, Lucas."

But it was a thought that maintained him in some cheer and comfort as the Royal Navy ship pulled out of the dock and turned towards France.

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><p><strong>AN: Next time - Ruth at Kieley, or Harry in France? Thoughts?<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Some people wanted to see Harry, others wanted to see Ruth - so I've settled for a little bit of both in one go, as was suggested by Jaberwockette, whom this chapter is dedicated to... Hope you enjoy...**

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><p>Ruth arrived at Kieley late the next evening, still troubled by Sir Henry's abrupt farewell visit, and much fatigued by her journey. Berry had driven ahead that morning with the luggage and John, leaving Miss Evershed and her maid to follow at a more genteel pace. Kieley's large, welcoming entrance hall and its blazing fires were very much welcome - despite it being August, the night was chill - and Miss Evershed would gladly have retired early, had it not been for the fact that her godmother had waited to dine until her arrival. So, after half an hour spent with Samantha, while the latter attempted to find out which of Miss Evershed's gowns was the least creased from packing, Ruth descended to the small family dining room. Lady Radford was already at the table, looking somewhat paler than usual. At Ruth's anxious enquiry after her health, however, her ladyship merely replied that she had had a slight cold but was recovering. Ruth sensed that she was not being told the entire truth, but could think of no way to ascertain the true situation without vexing her much-loved relation. Therefore, she took her seat opposite Lady Radford, and forced herself to concentrate on whatever her ladyship chose to discuss.<p>

Her ladyship chose to discuss the slim portion of their acquaintance left behind in London. The Norths and others were dealt with summarily, but when she reached Sir Henry, her ladyship showed more inclination to lengthen the discussion. At last, Ruth offered, "He called upon me yesterday."

It seemed to her that her godmother's eyes grew sharper and more curious, and that, momentarily, she leant forwards in more eagerness. But her voice was calm and cool when she replied, "Indeed? For what purpose?"

Her goddaughter toyed with some vegetables on her plate before replying. "He came to wish me a safe journey back to you, ma'am, and to ask me to pass on his very best wishes to you. He was leaving London yesterday, to attend to some business away from Middlethorpe."

Her ladyship relaxed in her chair, and a flicker of disappointment, quickly hidden, crossed her face at her goddaughter's reply.

"That was kind of him, indeed. If he is to be absent from Middlethorpe for any length of time, then he shall be all the more welcome here at Christmas, Ruth."

Her companion attempted a smile. "Indeed. I mentioned our plan to him, ma'am, but he could offer me no definite promise of his freedom at that time. He seemed almost… distracted. I hope that his business involves nothing distressing to him."

Lady Radford inclined her head. "As do I."

Soon afterwards, Ruth excused herself and retired to bed. She had expected her return to Kieley to be a joyous occasion, but ironically, her spirits were low and depressed, and as she changed for bed, she was astonished to find her cheeks were wet with tears. Brushing them vigorously away, she stared hard at herself in the mirror. "Stop this nonsense!" she ordered herself sternly. But as she lay down to sleep, she could not help the fact that her thoughts turned inexplicably to a certain baronet. His face swam to the front of her mind, his eyes smiling, his hair curling dashingly over his forehead, his lips… Miss Evershed sat up, shocked at her own unusually lurid imagination, and turned over her suddenly warm pillows, before pressing cool hands to her equally hot cheeks. She covered her eyes. "Oh, dear," she groaned to the dark room. "That _is_ awkward."

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><p>Sir Henry had forgotten how much he despised France. The weather was vile, the food and drink even more so. The back of his neck prickled constantly with nerves, the product, he supposed, of too many years spent behind a desk. But, Lord, how good it was to be back in the field, doing worthwhile work for his country once again. His false papers and impeccable French had served him well since the men of His Majesty's Navy had deposited him on a deserted beach by rowing boat, at night the day before. They were sailing further around the coast, transporting more soldiers to where they were needed, but would return in a few days to collect Sir Henry, as long as all had gone well. Until then, he was alone. He had fortunately managed to purchase a horse from a dealer in a small town on the coast. But perhaps fortunately was the wrong word - the mount was skinny, dull-eyed and slow to boot. Any good mount had already been taken for the use of Bonaparte's army.<p>

Luckily, the farmhouse for which Sir Henry was making was not far away, placed about a mile south of a rural village. By sunset, he could see the farm buildings and dismounted from his horse with relief to walk the rest of the way. Golden shafts of sunlight floated down upon the red roof of the main house, and the soft clucking of chickens could be heard as he drew nearer. The picture was one of perfect rural domesticity, and as he entered the farm quietly, Sir Henry found it difficult to believe that this seemingly peaceful country was at war. But then, did England's countryside look so different? Life went on, he realised. Farms continued their work, children were born, the old laid to rest, young couples married… He smiled wistfully. Perhaps soon…

Lieutenant Quinn's reports had mentioned a local agent who lived here, whom Sir Henry assumed would hold any information Lieutenant Quinn had managed to find out, but he was too tired to find them out tonight. He would bed down in the large barn he saw, and announce himself tomorrow. Exhausted, he pushed open the barn door and led his mount inside. The floor was covered in fresh hay, and a workhorse was already stabled there. He looked up from his manger as they entered, inspected them and then returned to his food. Sir Henry dropped the reins he carried in his hand. "Make yourself comfortable," he muttered to his dull-witted mount, and began to remove his coat.

But as he did so, something hard pressed into his back, between his shoulders. Something round. Almost like a gun barrel…

"I wouldn't move if I were you, Englishman."

_Damn. How inconvenient._

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><p><strong>AN: What's up with Lady Radford? Whose got Harry? And will he ever make it back to England in time for Christmas? Definitely a decent length chapter of Harry up next...<strong>_  
><em>


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Firstly, I'd like to apologise for the very long wait since the last update. I had a touch of writer's block, but I think I'm back on track now. Here's a decent chapter of Harry to prove it...**

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><p>The voice continued. "Now, put your hands in the air, very slowly, and kneel down." And Sir Henry made a shocking discovery. The voice was American… and female. He paused for a moment, and the gun dug more sharply into his back. He obeyed. There was a rustling sound behind him, and then he felt his hands being tied together. Painfully, his bound wrists were wrenched backwards to lay against the small of his waistcoated back. A moment more, and the duelling pistol he carried was removed from his belt. "Stand up," the woman ordered sharply, emphasising her words with yet another prod of the gun.<p>

Once again, Sir Henry obeyed his unknown captor, mind racing. "Now turn around." He did so, and stared. His captor was young, certainly not more than five and twenty years old, and decidedly beautiful. Instead of a gown, she wore a man's shirt and breeches, hair pinned up in a glorious golden crown on top of her head. Had Sir Henry's tastes been for young, blonde American women, rather than dark-haired, endearingly bashful English ones, then he would surely have been much struck by his first sight of this beauty. As it was, he was much angered. He stepped forwards, forgetting his bound hands, but the girl pressed the barrel of her musket into his chest, hard. She raised an eyebrow. "Careful. I have neither the time, nor the inclination to spend my evening cleaning your blood off my barn floor."

He frowned. "Your barn floor? You own this farm, ma'am?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course. I'm not so impolite as to go waving Charlie here around on land that doesn't belong to me."

Sir Henry smiled grimly at the nickname for her weapon. "Musket Model 1777 Charleville," he murmured, stepping back to take a closer look at the woman's weapon. "Useless at a range of more than 80 yards," he added, somewhat dismissively.

The virago straightened her shoulders. "I can still hit a man between the eyes at 90," she corrected him testily. Then she smiled thinly. "But enough about this. Who are you?"

He grimaced. "In England, a well-bred person such as yourself would offer their own name before making such an inquiry of someone else. Ma'am."

The woman gave a short laugh and, not lowering her musket an inch, bobbed a fashionable curtsey, despite her breeches. "Miss Christine Dale, sir."

When her captive replied, his tone was dryer than the hay his horse was currently dining on. "Sir Henry Pearce, of His Majesty's Army, Miss Dale. Honoured to make your acquaintance. I would bow, but alas…" He jerked his head over his shoulder, indicating his bound hands. However, a thought struck him at that moment and he paused. "_Dale_?" He laughed, long and loud, while his new acquaintance merely stared, somewhat baffled, at him. "Am I correct in thinking, ma'am, that you are acquainted that Lieutenant Thomas Quinn?"

The musket shook in her formerly steady hands, and she lowered it a fraction from its previous position. "Tom?" Then recovering her composure, she shook her head and replied defiantly, "Never heard of him."

"My dear girl, I am Thomas's commanding officer. And, that being so, I believe that you and I have some business to discuss." He stepped forwards.

The musket shot back up, and Sir Henry paused again, eyes wide in as much a gesture of peace as his current state would allow.

Miss Dale eyed him stonily. "Prove it. For all I know, you could be one of Boney's agents with an impeccable English accent."

He inclined his head, accepting her words. "Very well. _When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her, though I know she lies…_" He paused, and looked up at her inquiringly. "I can continue, if you are not yet satisfied…"

But she shook her head, and finally the musket was lowered. With a sigh of irritation, she stepped smartly behind him and untied his wrists. Wincing, Sir Henry stretched out his arms gingerly, trying to relieve the ache in his arms. Miss Dale gestured to the barn door. "After you, Sir Henry," she suggested mockingly.

Inside the farmhouse, a fire crackled merrily in the kitchen hearth. Miss Dale pointed to a chair at the freshly scrubbed wooden table, and Harry sank gratefully into it, while she poured two glasses of wine from a half-empty bottle lying on a sideboard. She positioned herself opposite him, her musket lying lengthways next to her, folding her hands flat on the table top. For a moment, there was silence as the pair relaxed, and then Miss Dale asked, "So, why are you here? Not that I'm not overwhelmed with joy at the presence of an English officer, and a noble one at that, in my house, but I've had some of Boney's rats through here once already today, and I doubt they'd take kindly to you."

Sir Henry chuckled shortly. He liked this brusque, feisty woman. "When was the last time you saw Lieutenant Quinn, Miss Dale?"

She frowned. "About two weeks ago - no, closer to three. Why?"

He surveyed her over his glass for a moment, weighing up his options. "What did he say to you when you saw him? Did you have any new information for him, or he for you?"

Miss Dale scowled. "Perhaps, sir, it would be easier for us if you did not insist upon answering a question with a question." With sudden vehemence, she pointed out, "I risk my life for you and your damned monarchy - the least you owe me is a straight answer!"

Sir Henry remained unimpressed. His face was impassive. "On the contrary, Miss Dale, I owe you nothing. Lieutenant Quinn's reports stated that you had decided to help us because of some personal grievance against France. As I see it, _you_ are the one in debt."

Miss Dale folded her arms, a mulishly sullen expression crossing her lovely face. "And did Lieutenant Quinn's reports also state the fact that I'd been dragged in for questioning by the local spymaster last month? That I endure damn Frogs trampling over my dead husband's lands every week? That the people in the village won't sell me a thing because he was executed for treason? And you say I'm the one in debt? A funny idea of honour you people have."

Quietly, Sir Henry set his glass down, for once speechless. "He did not," he replied at last. "Forgive me, Miss Dale. My comments were thoughtless. I was not aware of your circumstances."

She shrugged and rose from her chair, turning to put more wood on the fire. Without looking at him, she explained, "I married my husband when I was sixteen. He was French, and my father was an American merchant who very much liked the idea of Continental connections. We were happy, for a long time. He was a patriot - so am I. When the wars started, Armand joined the army, of course. He was promoted to a captaincy very quickly. He was well liked by his men, by his superior officers - there were whispers of higher offices to come. And then, the next thing I knew, he'd been arrested and taken to Paris - charged with passing information onto the enemy. He was executed without even a trial. I still don't know what exactly he'd been accused of. He gave everything to France, and she didn't even value him enough to trust his word when he pleaded his innocence."

"And now you spy for a country which is at war with your own?"

She shrugged elegantly, back still turned to him, and there was a touch of bitter irony in her voice when next she spoke. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend - isn't that what they say? I'm a patriot, and once Boney's dead and buried and I've danced a jig on his grave, then England will have no worse enemy than me. But until then, we are stuck in what you might call a marriage of convenience."

Sir Henry drained his glass of wine, pondering his words. He did not for a moment believe them to a be an exaggeration. Her confident handling of 'Charlie' was enough to prove that. But, as she said, they were stuck with each other. "Very well. Lieutenant Quinn went missing shortly after he left your farmhouse, Miss Dale." There was a loud clatter. Miss Dale had dropped a log of wood on the tiled floor.

"Missing?" she rasped. "God, you don't think some of Boney's men…?" She was unable to finish her sentence. She turned, and groped blindly for her chair, sitting down heavily.

Sir Henry shook his head. "I don't believe so. They tend to crow a little more over their achievements. Was he in uniform when he left you?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you in the habit of training fools, Sir Henry? Of course he wasn't. He might as well have left here playing one of those infernal marching tunes you soldiers seem so fond of."

Sir Henry sighed. "That is… unfortunate. If he has been captured out of uniform, then the officer who had the honour will certainly suspect him of being what he is, and he will be treated as such. Did he leave any reports for me?"

Miss Dale nodded, only half-listening. "Yes. I will fetch them for you."

She vanished from the room, to return a moment later bearing a small tin box, dusty with soot. She set it on the table and dusted her hands with a handkerchief. "I keep it in the ledge of one of the chimneys. I never use the room, so there's no chance of it being discovered, or damaged, by accident." Sir Henry nodded and popped the lid open. A collection of papers, covered in Lieutenant Quinn's sure, bold hand lay there - all ciphered, of course. Sir Henry could make out a few individual words at a glance, but to translate all the reports would take several hours. "Miss Dale, might I trouble you for a pencil and some paper?" he asked very calmly at length, as though they sat together in an English drawing room in peacetime. Quietly, she fetched the items he had requested.

"And now, I suggest that you retire. I shall need to leave here very early tomorrow if I am not much mistaken, and I don't anticipate availing myself of any sleep," Sir Henry explained. Miss Dale wavered, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of leaving an English spymaster at large and unsupervised in her house, but exhaustion overcame anxiety. Hesitating, she removed his pistol from her belt, and laid it down on the table next to him. A moment later, and Sir Henry heard her footsteps, light and even, on the stairs. Checking his pistol, and moving the candle closer to his collection of papers, Sir Henry pulled the first report towards him. It was to be a long night, it seemed.


	16. Chapter 16

**I shudder to think how long it's been since I updated this... but here's a really short chapter to hopefully get things back on track. Enjoy!**

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><p>Ruth stared out of the drawing room window at the dismal grey sky outside. It had been three weeks since her departure from town, three weeks of low spirits and false smiles in the daytime and tears in the dead of night when no one could hear her. The weather seemed to have aligned itself with her thoughts - they had had two days of solid, heavy rain - so Ruth had even been denied the relief of her daily, solitary walks into the village and back. Lady Radford had been abed ill for the past week, and never had her goddaughter felt so alone. Even her studies could not amuse her for long.<p>

A letter had arrived from Elizabeth (in Spain with her husband's regiment) just yesterday, sending her aunt good wishes and begging that she would come to visit them very soon. Ruth had shaken her head over that last; clearly, despite a month of marriage, Elizabeth was no better versed in politics or military matters than she had been at birth. A visit to the Peninsular would be utterly impossible - but still Miss Evershed could not help dreaming of what it would be like. She smiled faintly at her folly - with Lady Radford ill, and a war abroad, travel would be ill-advised at best. The slow pace of life, however, was somehow suffocating, and what had promised to be a peaceful winter in the country had turned into a nightmare to be endured with only the barest semblance of pleasure.

And still there had been no sight or sound of Sir Henry. Ruth sank into a chair by the fire, allowing its warmth to soak into her somewhat chilled bones. Perhaps this, in truth, was the real cause of her melancholy. After all, he had been such a good friend to her, that his sudden absence was unsettling. She longed to talk to him about the latest political developments, debate the merits of a new book, or merely talk to him about her growing anxiety on Lady Radford's part. The old lady seemed to have grown thinner, and although she veiled it well with her usual display of upright sprightliness, Ruth could tell that her illness was more serious than she would admit. Already this week she had missed two visits from Dr Templeton, come to see her godmother, and she could not help but wonder whether Lady Radford had timed them so that they would occur when Ruth herself was safely absent from the house. This most of all struck fear into her heart. What if…?

Shaking herself sternly, Ruth brushed away an unwonted tear. Nonsense. People of Lady Radford's age could very well suffer an illness for a time, and require multiple visits from their physician; such an occurrence did not warrant such anxiety. That was what Sir Henry himself would have told her, had he been here, she felt sure. But what if he were here? That last day in London, she had felt that they were on the brink of something, teetering on the precipice of a new phase of their acquaintance. Now, all she could do was wait. Wait for his return, and what it might bring.

The clock in the hall struck the hour and Ruth rose to change. A visit from Mr Wynn-Jones, bringing books for Lady Radford, and perhaps a piece of music or a periodical from London, was sure to occur within the next half an hour or so, as it had every day since her arrival in the country. The local clergyman, Mr Wynn-Jones had been the only bright point in Ruth's fit of the blue devils. Pleasant, gentleman-like and, best of all, a close friend of Sir Henry's, he had an ageing mother whom Ruth had called upon once or twice. He would converse with the ladies in Lady Radford's sitting-room for an hour or more, and Ruth found that she could manage her life just a little better now that this sweet-tempered, gentle, rather shy man had entered it.

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><p><strong>Next time, more Harry in France, the entrance of Tom Quinn and an unfortunate encounter with a Frenchman or two...<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: First of all, I owe a massive apology to everyone who has been reading this fic and waiting for an update. I hit a major block with the story, and while I don't think the next few chapters are totally unblocked yet, or going to flow particularly well, on the plus side I am back on track with where I want to go with it. Before I leave you with this chapter, I'll say now: this fic will get finished. It may take me months, or even years, and there might be big pauses between updates, but don't doubt that eventually it will be completed. I love this fic and the alternate world I've created in it, and although it might be a bit of a pain sometimes, I won't give up on it. _Pactum serva_, guys! xx**

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><p>The night drew on wearily, with only the scratch of his pencil against paper and the dying crackle of the fire to accompany him. Tom's reports were troubling. He had heard whispers, murmurings among his contacts… Harry sighed and brushed a hand across his eyes, which ached with exhaustion.<p>

The end of the last report in particular was troubling:

…_Sir, I heard about the movements of our troops from French contacts, _before they happened. _I sincerely hope that I am wrong, but I feel it very likely that we have a traitor in our midst, passing information on to the French. I intend to travel to Paris, and attempt to find out who our betrayer is. I may have to drop out of contact, so will leave this report and my others with my local agent, so that any of our officers who follow me will learn the whole. I do not know how long it may take, or if I shall be successful, but I believe that this will be the best use of my time at present…_

Dawn was breaking when Sir Henry finally set aside his documents and stood, stretching. He would, of course, have to follow Quinn to Paris. If he was there, he would be staying at the merchant's house the War Office had purchased for such a purpose, before the war. They would need to convene, and urgently, to discuss what, if any, information had been discovered. If there was a leak in the War Office, as Tom suspected, then the situation was far more serious than Sir Henry had realised. And where did this leave Oliver Mace? He was involved, Harry was convinced of it - but how? It was not as if Mace himself had access to the inner workings of the War Office, after all. The only good thing to have revealed itself from the tangle was that there was a good chance that Tom had not been captured. But, in Sir Henry's experience, when something like this was one's only positive thought, it was sure evidence that the matter in hand was not going well.

There were footsteps on the stairs, and Miss Dale came downstairs, a shawl wrapped over her nightgown. "What does Tom say?" she asked quietly. "Do you know where he may be?"

Sir Henry paused, judging the prudence of telling his hostess what he had found out, and then caught sight of the expression on her face. Here was not a virago, intent on avenging her husband's death, but a young woman, anxious for the safety of a man she felt very deeply for. Were she and Quinn lovers? Yet another complication…

"I no longer think that he has been captured," he replied gently. "It seems that he has travelled to Paris, investigating certain rumours." He expected her to question him further, but to his surprise, she seemed to accept his answer. She nodded, relieved. "I am glad. You will be following him, I assume, sir?"

Sir Henry nodded, gathering up the sheaf of reports, and tucking them into the voluminous inside pocket of his driving coat. "Indeed I shall, and quickly. Time is of the essence." It would be a burden to ride to Paris and back, to meet his ship - and all within four days! - but it had to be done. Miss Dale hesitated and then laid a hand on his arm. "Then, Sir Henry, perhaps when you see Tom, you will be good enough to… convey to him my regards, and my sincere wish that he will remain in good health."

He pursed his lips. This had to be stopped, and since Quinn had clearly not had the sense to do so, it seemed the task would fall to him. "Miss Dale," he began severely, but she raised a hand to stop him.

"I know what it is that you are about to say, sir. You do not wish one of your best men to be engaged in an affair with a woman such as me."

He sighed. "You put it so bluntly. But - surely, you have both foreseen the difficulties of your situation? I may be lenient, but there are those at the War Office, and at Horseguards, who would not show such understanding. I advise you - and shall advise Lieutenant Quinn when I see him - to break off this foolishness at once, for both your sakes'. It will never end happily."

She appraised him coolly for a moment, and then murmured, "If I could believe in the selflessness of your motives, then I should probably do as you advise. But I think that your sentiments have more to do with your anxieties over my loyalty, rather than any you may have for Thomas's, or my, happiness, sir."

He shrugged into his driving coat almost angrily. "I wish you could believe in my motifs, Miss Dale." He paused. "But I will do you ask."

She nodded her thanks almost shyly and turned to her larder. "Paris is not a short ride. Let me pack you some food for the journey."

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><p>Miss Dale had been correct in her statements - it had taken him almost two days, with just a brief halt the night before for rest, to reach Paris. And now that he was here… Sir Henry's neck was prickling again. Paris was dirty, its people underfed, and its streets rife with pickpockets and prostitutes. Extracting himself from the rather insistent grasp of one seemingly frail young woman, he continued along his path. The house he looked for was close by, and if Quinn was anywhere, he would be here.<p>

At last, he halted before a tall, rickety looking building. The peeling paint on the door did nothing to improve his mood. He knocked three times and waited. Then he knocked twice more. He could hear movements inside, and when the door finally opened, he was relieved to find Tom Quinn's solid face looking out at him. "Sir," he breathed, half-relieved, and allowed Harry inside, glancing around the street for watchers.

Inside, the building was just as squalid. Tom had set up his bedroll in one of the ground floor rooms, along with some empty chests that he appeared to be using as seats. Sir Henry removed his coat and laid it fastidiously over one of the crates before seating himself. Then, he took a long look at the young officer whom he had trained and believed lost for so many days. "By God, Quinn. It's damned good to see you."

The two men shook hands firmly, and the dingy atmosphere of the house seemed to recede somewhat. In more businesslike tones, Harry inquired, "Have you any information on our traitor? I read your reports, and they tally well with recent events in London. Oliver Mace has returned to England."

Lieutenant Quinn swore. "Damn his eyes! What does he want?"

Harry gestured expressively with his hand. "Your guess, I am afraid, is as good as mine, Tom. But I do not think that your rumours of treachery are unrelated."

Tom nodded and rose to retrieve some documents from his bedroll. He handed them to Harry. "I have located a man called Fontaine. He's a merchant by trade, but he runs a sideline in the transfer of information to Boney's spymasters. A disgusting little weasel of a man." The contempt in his voice was evident. Harry knew the type - enough money to live on, but not enough to satisfy his inherent greed; such men usually cowardly, lecherous and possessed of worse morals than the rats which lurked in London's sewers. His mouth twisted momentarily in distaste, but his mind remained on the task at hand. Shaking his head, he reminded Tom, "But he cannot be getting the information first-hand. He must have some sort of contact at the War Office."

Tom nodded. "Perhaps there is more than one other link in the chain. A man at the War Office, a man acting as go-between, and Fontaine." He ticked them off on his fingers, and added, "After all, it would look suspicious if a desk officer at the War Office was constantly going to and fro from London." There was much to be said for this idea, and Harry told him so. What a joy it was to be working alongside Quinn again, sharing intelligence, working through problems! For the first time since arriving in France, Sir Henry felt that he was doing something constructive. "I think that we ought to both return to England, now, so that you may make formal reports at the War Office," Harry told the other officer.

To his surprise, Tom shook his head. "Forgive me, sir, but I believe that I will be of more use here. If I follow Fontaine for long enough, then eventually I will find his contact. Now is not the time to leave him to his own infernal devices." Sir Henry rose and began to pace, thinking through the idea. Eventually, he nodded. "Very well. But, if you are agreeable, I will send another officer to assist you. "

Tom looked defiantly up at him. "And if I am not agreeable?" Only his long acquaintance with his superior gave him the courage to question his orders, but he knew that his question would not be well-received. Sir Henry raised his eyebrows. "Then I shall still send another officer. This situation is dangerous, and I don't want any of my men in Paris for longer than I can help." It was this more than anything that quietened Lieutenant Quinn. The great Sir Harry Pearce, hero of the Revolutionary Wars, steel-nerved spymaster, was afraid. He swallowed. "As you wish, sir."

Sir Henry reached for his coat. "I must leave Paris immediately. I will send on the other officer as soon as may be. I should be obliged if you kept in regular contact with the War Office, in the usual way." In a big city like Paris, there would be numerous petty agents through which Thomas could pass reports. In many ways, the situation would be easier than it had been for many months - the anxiety of waiting for the irregular occasions on which Thomas fell in with one of the army regiments, who would then send his dispatches home, followed by the disappointment when he had nothing or little to report, or the flurry of nervous activity when he did. Here, Sir Henry could at least be sure of regular reports and a regular flow of useful information. He collected his saddlebags and followed Thomas back out in the generously-named atrium of the house.

"I also think that Miss Dale would appreciate word of your safety," he said evenly. Lieutenant Quinn froze almost imperceptibly, before recovering his composure. "Of course, you have met Christine," he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Is she… angry?" he added, quietly.

Harry avoided his eyes. "Frantic would be the better word, I feel," he replied. "You know her views on England, I presume."

Tom winced and turned away. "Yes," he admitted.

Harry's voice did not alter in register or volume, but it was brimming with suppressed ire when next he spoke. "And still you persist with her?"

The man he had trained, who was as a son to him, ran a hand through already unkempt hair - an expression of utmost exasperation. "I cannot do otherwise," he uttered harshly. "You have been married Harry, you know what it is to love." His superior's breath caught in shock. _In love with Christine Dale, our enemy?_ Women were most of them susceptible to romantic attachments, but Harry had expected Tom to take a more pragmatic view of the situation. Love was all very well, but… in such a situation, did they really imagine that they had any chance of happiness? The unintentional jibe about his marriage stung, but not so much as did the realisation that the only love Harry recognised had not been found within it. It was not a new sensation, but the guilt had not yet dissipated to such an extent that he could think of his wife without some inkling of shame. Miss Evershed's face drifted before his eyes, and he blinked. The Lord knew what would happen to Thomas Quinn and Miss Dale, but Harry found he no longer had the heart to deny them their brief time of happiness.

"Yes," he replied at last, shortly. "I do. I will do what I can, but don't expect a smooth passage." He extended his hand, and the other man shook it, heartily. His relief and gratitude were obvious. "Thank you, Harry. From the bottom of my heart."

Sir Henry gave a weary half-smile and opened the door. "Goodbye, Tom, and good luck."


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Another, very short update. No Ruth, but at least Sir Henry is back in England...**

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><p>London provided welcome relief. It was dirty, its poorer people were underfed, and its streets were rife with pickpockets and prostitutes, but at least it was familiar dirt, poverty, crime. Sir Henry's most pressing concern was finding assistance for Lieutenant Quinn. Fortunately, he knew just where to inquire.<p>

He located Alec White in the parlour of his lodgings, over a tankard of beer. He wasted no time in stating his business. "You are to go to Paris, contact Lieutenant Quinn, and give him whatever assistance he may require."

The momentary silence was both deafening and discouraging. At last, Captain White reminded him, "Harry, I left the Army three years ago - I'm no soldier anymore, to be ordered around!" Sir Henry sighed and took a seat. Whenever he was in the presence of Alec White for lengthy periods of time, he found himself either suffering from a head ache, or longing for the regimented command structures of the regulars. At present, both states of mind were bearing in upon him with urgency.

"No, but you are discreet and, despite appearances, a good agent," he replied in clipped tones. White appeared to be considering the matter. He took a thoughtful swig from his tankard and then set it down with a nod. Harry continued. "Whatever you find out, I want you to bring it back in person. If you cannot contact me, you are to take the information to Mr Wynn-Jones, the clergyman at Middlethorpe."

He hesitated, judging the situation. There really ought to be a third contact, he realised, someone else entirely removed from the dangers of the War Office, and the Greek to its Trojan Horse. At last, he ordered, "If he is not available… Miss Ruth Evershed is currently resident at Kieley, a mile or so away." Captain White looked as if he had never heard a more astonishing order in his life. His jaw seemed to slacken, and Sir Henry began to feel rather self-conscious. While he himself knew that Miss Evershed's calm good sense would see that anything entrusted to her possession reached the person best able to take charge of it, others would not be so quick to see her merits. "A woman?" Captain White asked, disbelievingly. It was this that raised Sir Henry's hackles. That anyone would dare to describe Miss Evershed merely as 'a woman' and judge her abilities without knowing anything more of was maddening in the extreme, and not an attitude that was likely to recommend White further to him. "I would trust her with my life, White," he snapped shortly. Then, turning the subject, he asked, "Now, what news of Mace? I have my man at the War Office on to it, but he is very… methodical."

White snorted; his contempt for the War Office was well-known and covered by the merest veneer of civility at the best of times. "Slow, you mean," he corrected. "Mace is a difficult man to catch out. His routine is fairly unexceptionable. He visits his tailor, he attends evening functions, spends time in the 'stews.'" Sir Henry's face twisted in distaste. Just as he would have expected - Mace was another greedy, lecherous, cowardly rat, just like Fontaine. Unfortunately, it did not appear that White had discovered any more of a connection between the two men, a connection that Sir Henry had convinced himself was there.

"I see," he replied, dryly. It appeared that Mace had been making the most of his time in London, clearly. "No unusual activities? Odd exchanges of letters? Has there been any success in placing an agent inside his house?"

White shook his head. "No, but I have been making inquiries." He smirked almost wistfully. "There's a rather pretty lass who's head housemaid there, and… things are progressing."

Harry decided that it was safer not to probe further. Alec White's romantic exploits were none of his concern. "Very well. Find a man to take over your work here, and I will arrange your passage to France. Have you anything else to report?" Here for the first time, White showed uncertainty. He drained his tankard, delaying the time when he would be forced to answer, but eventually he nodded.

"Your son was married three days ago to Miss Walter."

The words hung heavily on the air, and even heavier upon Sir Henry's heart. He had not truly thought that the lad would be so irresponsible. He recalled the threats he had made to his son at their last meeting and sighed deeply, sitting down. He had believed the boy had more sense than to tie himself to a girl whose father would show no more generosity towards the disgraced couple than Sir Henry himself would. He ought to be glad, he supposed, that Graham had married the girl, instead of throwing her aside - but it puzzled him. He believed that he knew his son's character, and could not understand why he had _not_ cast her aside. Sir Henry had kept a close eye, if not a close rein, over his son for the past five years - he knew that Graham had had mistresses before, actresses and worse, all ruthlessly cut from his life like weeds from a perfectly ordered garden when they had become tiresome or a nuisance. What had been so different about Miss Walter? Had he expected her father to be grateful for the marriage, saving his daughter from social ruin? Had he expected some sort of pecuniary advantage?

His thoughts were running away with him, and White was watching him anxiously. He rose. "I shall make the necessary arrangements for your journey," he repeated. "And my thanks for informing me about… the other matter. Good day, White."

So enveloped was Sir Henry in his thoughts that he did not notice the cloaked figure who followed him from White's lodgings to the War Office, waited outside while he conducted some necessary business, and then trailed him home. Nor did he notice, the next day, when he left London for Middlethorpe, in his racing curricle, that the same gentleman was following close behind…


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: This has been one of my very favourite chapters to write, and I hope you enjoy it just as much. This may or may not be the last update before Christmas, but stay tuned...**

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><p>Finally, there had been a break in the weather; after four days of solid rain, the clouds had parted and rays of sunshine had glittered down over the north of England. It was bitterly cold, heralding the inevitable approach of winter, but Ruth, having spent almost a week confined to Kieley's draughty rooms, with only the exercise of the Long Gallery, was too eager for this opportunity for fresh air to care. A walk from Kieley, down the woodland path, through the village to pay a call on Mrs Wynn-Jones, and to return a book her son had been kind enough to lend her, would vastly improve her mood. She dressed sensibly - an walking dress so old that its once bright blue had faded to an indeterminate grey, with a jacket her mother would have fainted upon seeing and a pair of sturdy leather boots that had seen her through many days of unpleasant weather. A straw bonnet, tied firmly beneath her chin, and a pair of gloves, completed her outfit.<p>

Kieley was surrounded by miles of rolling countryside, and now the October sunlight had once more appeared, it provided beautiful views as Miss Evershed began her walk. Most women of her class would not, perhaps, have attempted such a long walk after such frightful weather, but mud and puddles of rainwater did not deter Ruth, and soon she had reached the estate gates. She paused as she pushed one of them open, to glance over at the Dower House, set back from the drive in a pretty garden. By rights, she and Lady Radford should be living there, but with 'young' Lord Radford away in the Peninsular, it had been declared foolish for the big house to be left uninhabited. Ruth smiled softly. 'Young' Lord Radford (as he was always known among those who had been acquainted with his late father) was far too kind and gentlemanlike a man to turn his own mother out of the house she had run for forty-five years.

Past the gates, the road continued to twist downhill, towards the main road, in the woods. Turning right, one would find oneself on the road to the village, and the rectory; left, and one would eventually come to the gates of Middlethorpe Priory. Ruth's smile faded. Sir Henry had still not returned to his estates, and with such weather, it seemed unlikely that he would have undertaken a journey within the past few days. But she did not remain downhearted for long. The splash her booted feet made in the puddles along the road, and the gentle dappled light created by the softly dripping trees overhead calmed and delighted her by turns, and the icy air in her lungs made her feel more alive than she had done in days.

Her good mood lasted until she was but a quarter of a mile from the rectory. At this point, she was confronted by a racing curricle and pair, positioned across the road so as to make it almost impossible for any other traveller to pass. The only solution would be to climb up onto one of the muddy banks of the road, and walk along there until she had passed the curricle, holding onto the overhanging branches there for balance. This she did, slowly and carefully, wondering at the selfishness of persons who abandoned their vehicles in the middle of roads. There was nothing visibly wrong with either horses or vehicle, so she could only assume that the person responsible had acted so in jest or malice.

However, her opinion of the matter changed when she at last judged herself to be sufficiently past the curricle to climb down from the bank. Having done so, she glanced about, looking for a suitable patch of grass upon which to clean her horribly muddied footwear, and caught sight of _Sir Henry Pearce, seated upon a turnstile on the opposite side of the lane, clutching a bloodied handkerchief to his left arm_.

She halted, stunned. The mystery of the curricle and pair was solved, it seemed. "Sir Henry!" she exclaimed and hurried across. Upon closer inspection, she could tell that the wound in his arm was bleeding quite freely. The gentleman gave a start, and then winced as he jolted his injured limb. But he barely had time to attempt to stand and bow, his voice breathing her name, before she had added, rather unnecessarily, "Sir, you are wounded!"

He lifted the handkerchief and inspected the patch of blood. "A scratch, no more," he reassured her. "Be easy, Miss Evershed."

She frowned. "Sir, you forget that I am a physician's daughter - I know a gunshot wound when I see one!" His mouth tightened, but carried away in the pleasure and anxiety of seeing him again, she did not notice. "You must allow me to fetch some help."

He shook his head insistently, and turned to walk to his curricle. Ruth followed him. "No, truly. No fuss."

"Mr Wynn-Jones' house is but a moment away, if you will not let me fetch a doctor to you," she persisted. "Please, at least - "

He turned to her, face reddening with pain and anger. "Miss Evershed, this is not your affair!" he snapped, voice tight with pain.

They stood looking at each other for a moment, the gentleman looking down almost bashfully as his fury was replaced by an awful consciousness of his own rudeness, the lady, a little shorter, face white and expression affronted. At last, in perfectly normal accents, the lady informed him, "It is very much my affair, Sir Henry. You have interrupted my walk and the least you can do in recompense is to allow me to accompany you to Mr Wynn-Jones' house for treatment."

"Forgive me," Sir Henry murmured after a moment. "You shall do as you wish, of course."

Turning the curricle proved to take longer than it ordinarily would have done, due to Sir Henry's injury, but once this had been accomplished, his now throbbing arm and light head made him far more amenable to persuasion from Miss Evershed that she should take the reins. She might not have known a great deal about horses, but driving a pair for a short distance was not beyond her abilities, and they arrived safely at their destination. Luckily, the master of the house himself was at home; Sir Henry remained in the curricle while Miss Evershed briefly explained the situation, and he was pleased to note the easy friendship which had grown between the pair.

Wynn-Jones returned to the curricle while Miss Evershed entered his house, and reached up a hand for his old friend to shake. "Good day, Harry. Come along inside, my dear chap."

"Malcolm." His face was grey, and the bloodstain on his shirt had spread. He only smiled when, upon entering Wynn-Jones' drawing room, they found Miss Evershed arranging cushions and a blanket on the chaise-longue. She looked up at the sound of footsteps and stepped back bashfully. "If you won't let me send for Dr Templeton, sir, will you at least let me try to get the shot out?" she asked quietly, as Sir Henry seated himself against the cushions.

He looked up at her enquiringly, and she lowered her gaze. "I helped my father occasionally. He showed me what to do."

There was silence for a moment, and then Mr Wynn-Jones spoke up, kindly. "I think that would be a marvellous idea. But I shall still send Jim to fetch Dr Templeton." And without waiting for an acquiescence from either guest, he departed, calling for his serving-man.

Silence fell, with only the ticking of the clock to break it. Ruth sat on a footstool next to the chaise-longue, and gently began to roll up Sir Henry's sleeve to inspect the damage. His left arm was peppered with angry red marks where the shot had pierced his flesh. He winced, and her hands paused in their work. "Forgive me," she murmured, and their eyes met briefly.

There was a knock at the door and Sir Henry did not think he mistook the note of irritation in Miss Evershed's voice when she called, "Come in!" Wynn-Jones' maid entered, bearing a basin of water, cloths and a pair of tweezers on a tray. Having inspected her equipment, Ruth once more resumed her seat.

What followed were five minutes of excruciating embarrassment for both parties. Sir Henry was trying desperately to remain still as she gently prodded at the wounds, removing small pieces of metal and setting them aside, while Ruth was trying to ignore the fact that her work necessarily involved touching the bare skin of his arm. At last, when four little slivers of iron rested on the tray between them, and Ruth was preparing herself to search for the fifth, Sir Henry asked, "Are you not curious as to what I may have done to provoke such an attack, Miss Evershed?"

She did not reply for several moments, engaged as she was with the tweezers, but at last, she sat back, and replied, "I do not know, sir. It is not my business to enquire - I am only glad that I passed by when I did."

Sir Henry was much amused. The slight frown between her brows was one he recognised - his fair rescuer was wrestling with the problem in her head, unwilling to share her conclusions with him. He smiled. "As am I. Indeed, I think the circumstances of the past hour are sufficient to entitle you to some explanation of my situation, ma'am."

The fifth piece of shot was out, and Ruth inspected the wound closely. "I believe there is but one more piece left, sir," she announced, seemingly ignoring his words, but the way she bit her lip told him that she had heard him well enough. "Very well," he said. "Miss Evershed, you know that I am engaged in work for the War Office. What do you imagine that that involves?"

The final piece of shot came free, and she dipped a cloth into the basin to begin cleaning the wound. "Oh, troop movements, strategy and tactics, supply…" she replied. He nodded, and then paused. Now would be the difficult part. Men of honour usually considered it beneath them to engage in spying; their battles were fought in the open. He had once thought the same himself, as a young, unworldly army officer in America. The belief was naive - he knew that, had learnt it in blood and the sound of cannon. But Miss Evershed… gently reared, well-versed in academic knowledge, but with no practical experience of any sort - she would believe as he had done, that spying on an enemy, knowing his actions almost before he himself did, was no way to fight a war. But he owed her this confidence.

"In part," he acknowledged. "We also… send men into enemy territory, and… observe the actions of the enemy. What they do, or plan to do. Sometimes, what their officers and men say to each other, in public and in private. We…"

But he had no need to complete his sentence. Miss Evershed looked up at him, with the clear-eyed delight of someone who has just calculated the answer to a very difficult puzzle, and completed calmly, "You spy on the enemy." She smiled. "Of course - I should have guessed."

He looked down at her shrewdly, barely feeling the wet cloth brush against his wound. It still stung, but less so now. "Then… you do not disapprove?"

Wryly, she informed him, "Of course I disapprove. When the children were small, I told them that listening at keyholes was dishonourable and disreputable, and would only lead them into trouble." Her face clouded. "But this is not listening at keyholes, and the punishment for such activities on the battlefield is, I imagine, much higher than no supper. The men you send into the field… they must be very brave, to take such risks." It was a measured reply, the reply of a keen sense of honour, tempered by an intelligent brain and a kind heart.

"Our work is important. Perhaps there is little honour in it, but it is a price I am willing to pay if it means that Bonaparte's pretensions are set down a year, a month, a week sooner."

Miss Evershed merely continued with her work, for once revealing nothing of what she thought or felt. "And your work is the reason why you were shot?"

Grimly, he nodded. "I have reason to believe that the War Office's workers are not all so loyal as I should like. It seems someone is passing information on to an agent in France. I was trailed from London, but my mind was on other things… I did not notice my companion until he judged it the right time to fire his musket."

The wound was as clean as she could manage; Ruth set aside the cloths. "Other things?" She had not missed the slight hesitance in his voice when he had spoken of his distraction, and the query was out of her mouth before she remembered that there were many things in a gentleman's life that he did not share with female acquaintances. But the same remembrance did not seem to have struck Sir Henry. Softly, he replied, "My son is lately married, in unhappy circumstances. The girl's father does not approve, and nor do I. But they would not heed our sanctions… I regret to say that the couple had been lodging together for several weeks before the marriage happened."

He expected shock and disgust; he did not expect the gentle comforting hand that was laid over his own, or the expression of deep sadness and pity that crossed her face. "I am very sorry to hear it, indeed, Sir Henry. But if he… if your son has married the girl, then at least they may retain some respectability." She hesitated, and then added, quietly, "They must be very much in love."

He frowned in irritation. "Perhaps. Miss Evershed, my son has never been much troubled by matters of the heart before, and I am anxious that his actions now are… are not precipitated by selfless motives." He sat in silence for a few moments, and then brightened. "In any case, I can do nothing, and ought not to be burdening you with these matters. But I must beg - "

She raised a reassuring hand. "I shall not speak of either matter to anyone. You have my word, sir."

He sighed, half-relieved and half-amused. "Miss Evershed - "

The door opened, and Mr Wynn-Jones entered, accompanied by Dr Templeton. Miss Evershed rose to greet the doctor, moving away from Sir Henry. He tried to rearrange his features into an expression of grateful welcome, but wasn't entirely sure how successful he had been. In any case, Miss Evershed was explaining to Dr Templeton what she had done, and all attention was on her. Dr Templeton bowed slightly to her. "My thanks, Miss Evershed. It seems that Sir Henry has been in very capable hands."

She smiled. "It was not so very difficult. But I am glad that you were able to get here so quickly, sir."

It seemed to Sir Henry that was something of reserve in Dr Templeton's countenance when he at last replied, "Fortunately, ma'am, I had been at Kieley, attending your godmother, and was just returning along the road when Mr Wynn-Jones' man met me."

Ruth's smile faded. "My godmother? I… I had no notion that she was ill. I would not have left had I been aware…"

Templeton fiddled with his doctor's bag. "Be easy. It is nothing serious - merely a regular visit to ascertain the state of her health. She is not a young woman, Miss Evershed." His tone was one of finality, and Ruth knew that she would have to be satisfied with his reply. Still, it had done nothing to ease her worries over Lady Radford. She turned to Sir Henry and Mr Wynn-Jones. "I shall leave you now that Dr Templeton has arrived. I imagine my godmother will be wondering where I am."

She slipped out of the room.

Her walk back to Kieley was thankfully uneventful - Miss Evershed had far too much to think about. Sir Henry's return to the country was, of course, a wonderful surprise and she was very happy… and what he had told her had instilled with her a pride in his confidence in her. But Dr Templeton's visit to her godmother had tempered any pleasure she felt in his return. Lady Radford was definitely paler and thinner and all together more worn-looking than Ruth had ever before seen her. Should it all be put down to old age? Lady Radford was not, as the good doctor had pointed out, a young woman. She had been eighty at her last birthday, after all. Miss Evershed could only hope that Dr Templeton had been speaking the truth, and that nothing more serious was causing her godmother's illness.

The said lady was sitting by the fire in the drawing room when Ruth returned. She caught sight of her goddaughter's dishevelled hair and the mud-coated hem of her gown with her sharp eyes, but made no mention of them. Instead, she smiled up at Ruth, hovering in the doorway, and asked, "Did you enjoy your walk, my dear?"

Ruth smiled in return, but she seemed distracted. "Yes… Ma'am, you would tell me, would you not, if there was anything wrong? I - Dr Templeton has called several times now, I know, and I did wonder - "

Her godmother raised a hand, silencing her. "The winter is approaching, and the autumn has been so damp and cold. It is a chill, no more - when the weather gets warmer, I shall be perfectly well again." Her words closed the subject. Ruth sat down and the footman brought in tea.

"Sir Henry Pearce has returned to Middlethorpe," Ruth ventured at last. It would not do to confess all the circumstances of their meeting, even to Lady Radford, but it would look odd if she failed to mention the fact. "We met in the lane down to the village."

Lady Radford observed her narrowly over her teacup. "How nice. We shall invite him to Kieley for Christmas, as we planned, then."

And sitting in the drawing room with Lady Radford, by a crackling fire, easy conversation flowing between them, Ruth began to calm her nerves, and look back on the events of the morning with wonder and even delight.

* * *

><p>Lady Radford adjusted her lace shawl and smiled at how well her goddaughter was looking. Her spirits were greatly improved too, since Sir Henry had reappeared, and her ladyship could only hope that this was a good omen. Ruth could not in any way be thought averse to the gentleman, in any case, and such a circumstance could only be perceived as a promising sign in any courtship. Yes, she would be well-satisfied, to see Ruth so happily settled with such a man. She would have security and prosperity, and best of all, a husband who saw and valued her talents and qualities. Not to mention the relief from anxiety on her goddaughter's part that her ladyship herself would gain…<p>

Anxiously, Ruth smoothed the skirts of her cream muslin gown, and tried to resist the urge to examine her hair in the large mirror before her. There was nothing exceptionable about the evening, and no reason for her to feel nervous. She took a deep breath and felt calmer. The dinner invitation had arrived a week earlier, just two days after Sir Henry's return to the country, delivered by a smartly dressed footman from Middlethorpe. Sir Henry Pearce asked for the honour of Lady Radford and Miss Evershed's company as part of a small party on Wednesday next. Ruth, sitting by the fireside, had read the invitation and felt a warmth spread through her body that had nothing to do with the burning logs in the fireplace.

And now they stood together in Middlethorpe's hall, Lady Radford having made enough of a recovery from her illness to make a public appearance. Ruth tipped her head back slightly to examine the fine carved frieze that ran around the top of the room. It was imposing, certainly, but not unpleasantly so. A slight cough drew her eye from the stone vines she was tracing, until it lit upon their host, walking down the stairs to greet them. He reached their level and bowed, first to Lady Radford and then to Miss Evershed. His smile was infectious - Ruth did not even attempt to hide her own.

Middlethorpe Priory was a house several centuries older than Kieley, with large rooms and pleasant, if old, furnishings. But its slightly worn carpets, and thick velvety window hangings only served to remind Ruth of its lord and master; she could not disapprove of them. "I am very glad to see you," he murmured to Ruth, as he led her into the drawing room, where the other guests awaited the call to dinner. "I fear that I was not as polite as I should have been, upon our last meeting."

She smiled up at him, highly amused. "I think that a bullet wound may excuse any impoliteness, if, indeed, you were impolite. Has your arm recovered?"

Obediently, he lifted the limb and rotated it for her inspection. "Quite well, thank you, as you see. Dr Templeton said that he could not have done a better job himself."

"How kind of him." At that moment, a woman - strangely familiar, and yet utterly unknown to Ruth - appeared in the room and approached them. Anyone could tell that her gown had been made by a modiste at the height of fashion, and although she appeared to be only a few years younger than Sir Henry himself, her smiling countenance and elegantly arranged blonde curls did much to give her the impression of youth.

Sir Henry bestowed one of his amiable smiles on her, and then turned to Ruth. "Miss Evershed, allow me to introduce my sister. Miss Ruth Evershed, Mrs Eliza Darnay."

The ladies curtsied, and then Mrs Darnay held out a hand for Ruth to shake. "Miss Evershed, I am very glad to meet you." She had her brother's easy confidence and kind manners, as well as his brown eyes, glimmering with intelligence. "My brother has told me much about you. He says that his acquaintanceship with you was the only thing that made the London Season bearable this year."

Sir Henry flushed. "Eliza…" he murmured. Ruth looked up at him, surprised, and the corner of her mouth quirked in a bashful smile. To Mrs Darnay, who was watching shrewdly for a reaction, she replied, "Your brother is far too kind, ma'am."

Mrs Darnay slipped her hand through Ruth's arm. "Indeed he is!" she laughed gently. "Come, Miss Evershed, take a turn about the room with me. I should very much like to know you better." And, so saying, she led Ruth away from her brother. The gentleman stood near the fireplace, half-exasperated, half-amused, and watched his sister interrogate her new acquaintance. Fortunately, Miss Evershed seemed entirely at her ease, and when Mrs Darnay made some smiling comment, both women laughed. It must have been about him, for directly afterwards, Ruth turned her head, just so, and caught his eye. Mr Wynn-Jones had joined them, by this point, and thus it was that, when Hill rang the dinner gong ten minutes later and Eliza's husband came to lead her in, it was Wynn-Jones, and not Sir Henry himself, who claimed Miss Evershed's arm.

Sir Henry approached Lady Radford with good grace, passing Eliza as he did so. She touched his arm briefly and grinned whole-heartedly. "Simply delightful, Harry."

He raised his eyebrows, feigning bemusement. "I've no idea what you're talking about, Eliza." His sister was a dear creature, and he loved her heartily, but there was no escaping the fact that she could be possessed of a loose tongue. He dreaded the thought of her saying anything to Miss Evershed that would make her uncomfortable, even if it was said without a touch of malice in mind.

Fortunately, dinner passed off very well. The assembled company was small, and generally well-acquainted with each other. Eliza, only too delighted to play hostess for her brother when he required it, had contrived to be seated near Miss Evershed, and continued their conversation, while Harry addressed the majority of his conversation to Lady Radford. Her ladyship, while looking in better health than he had expected, was still pale, and her already sharp features had been sharpened still more by the loss of weight she appeared to have recently suffered.

"I am pleased that you have returned to the country, Sir Henry," she commented over the pheasant. "My goddaughter has been suffering from a sad want of society since coming to Kieley." She sighed and shot a look down the table, where Ruth was sipping at a glass of ruby-coloured wine. "I had hoped that a removal from London would be well-received, but I fear she is becoming lonely."

Sir Henry nodded. "A woman such as Miss Evershed ought to have been settled in her own establishment long since, Lady Radford," he replied, too distracted by the movements of a certain set of chestnut curls to consider his words before uttering them. He flushed. "That is to say, ma'am… from my conversations with Miss Evershed, I - "

Lady Radford laughed quietly. Dryly, she reassured him, "I understand your meaning well. Ruth was meant for independence. She even believes, I think, that she is a burden in my household, which of course is not true."

He swallowed, a strange lump in his throat at the thought of her unhappiness. "Lady Radford, I do not believe that Miss Evershed would know _how_ to be a burden."

* * *

><p>"I remember coming here with Susannah and Lady Radford when I was a child," Miss Evershed confessed, as the company sat once more in the drawing room after dinner. Someone was playing the piano, but they did not seem to be expecting an audience, since most of the guests were conversing quietly amongst themselves. She was seated comfortably on one of the sofas in the inglenook, Sir Henry placed elegantly opposite her. The gentlemen had not lingered long over their port that evening, and indeed it still lacked a full hour since the ladies had risen to withdraw from the dining table under Eliza's direction.<p>

She added, "Your uncle used to let us run wild in his orchards - but I shall never forget the thrashing he gave Peter when he found him scrumping apples one day." They both laughed, Sir Henry's eloquent expression reassuring her that her brother was not the only mischievous young jackanapes to have been thrashed by Squire Pevensey. He leant forwards.

"You miss your brother." It was not a question. Ruth avoided his eyes. Conversations about Peter were always so difficult, bringing them as they did all the horrid recollections of his death. But with Sir Henry, the feeling of sadness was somehow diminished. Bravely, she settled for the simple truth. "He was an impudent rascal, recklessly brave, dreadful with money… and I adored him."

Her good friend opened and closed his mouth several times, troubled as to how to reply. At last, he murmured, "Then, please, remember him in those terms, ma'am. _Only_ in those terms." Her breath caught. _He knows_, Ruth realised, with a flood of inexplicable relief. _He knows the truth about Peter! I won't have to suffer his sympathy, or bear the way military men usually spend an age talking about the honour of dying in battle._ She knew not how he had found out, or who had told him, but the idea did not trouble her. She felt that Sir Henry could be trusted with any confidence, no matter how shocking it might be.

"Thank you, sir," she managed at last. Then, determining to once more more be cheerful, she smiled, "And now that you are back at Middlethorpe, and recovered, perhaps you will accept our invitation to spend Christmas at Kieley."

"My dear Miss Evershed, I should be delighted."


	20. Chapter 20

Unfortunately, Captain White was not having so pleasant a time as Sir Henry. He disliked France, disliked Paris, and most of all disliked his fellow officer. He grimaced and pulled his greatcoat tighter around him, trying to keep out the nighttime chill, and pondered his companion, currently at their lodgings, in bed. If only Quinn was not so prim and proper, so quiet and dutiful. The man would not share a bottle of wine, or talk of the pretty American girl with whom he had intimated he was carrying on, or play a game of cards to pass the time.

Captain White had been in Paris for three days now, and he was already bored. Fontaine, their bait, had not made a move, as far as they could tell and he was frustrated. Their orders were clear - watch Fontaine, report on his movements and discover exactly who was passing information on to him. It was easier said than done. Fontaine may have been a weasel, but he was a discreet one. Alec curled his lip in disgust. The man, to a casual observer, appeared perfectly respectable and quiet - he had a well-run business, plenty of money, and his natural infidelities were admirably discreet.

He and Quinn took it in turns to watch him; one sleeping, one on duty at all times. But so far, their attention to their work had not been rewarded. And Quinn's cold reticence did nothing to aid the misery of the situation.

Alec sighed and returned his attention to the door of the house he was watching. It was, he feared, going to be a very long night.


	21. Chapter 21

Miss Evershed flattered herself that she was not usually the sort of woman to avoid greeting a guest, especially not one who had travelled so far in such bad weather as they had had over the past few days, and whom had, for a lengthy period of her life, offered her sanctuary in his house.

And yet here she was, lingering over her dressing table for perhaps the first time in her life, delaying, for as long as she possibly could, the moment when she would have to descend to the morning room and greet Edward Bailey. Lady Radford, she had been informed by the maid, had not yet risen and Ruth was loth to spend any time alone with her brother-in-law, considering the way in which they had parted after Elizabeth's wedding.

He had been offered an invitation to spend Christmas at Kieley by Lady Radford; Elizabeth was, of course, still in the Peninsular with Captain Levendis, and both of Mr Bailey's sons would be enjoying all the delights of the season which London could offer. Lady Radford had never particularly liked Mr Bailey, as Ruth had quietly pointed out to her, upon discovering that the invitation had been sent and accepted, but her ladyship had replied, with her typical sharp wit, that when one had been obliged to invite such county bores as the Readings and old Sir Jeremy Hartley, then one was allowed to invite people such as Edward Bailey to provide some light comic relief to the proceedings.

Ruth had hidden a smile and attempted to remind her godmother of Mr Bailey's virtues, whatever his behaviour might be like in situations of high-strung emotion, but to no avail. All she could hope for was that, with such a large party gathered at Kieley for Christmastide, the two would have little time to associate with each other.

With a final adjustment of her gown - plain cream linen - and a last examination of her hair in the mirror, Ruth left her room and walked downstairs as one who was, if not going to the gallows, certainly on her way to a lengthy spell in Newgate Gaol. When she opened the drawing room door, Edward rose to his feet immediately and Miss Evershed took a sort of vindictive delight in the fact that he looked far more awkward than she felt.

"Miss Evershed," he murmured with a bow.

She stepped further into the room and shut the door behind her with a definite snap. If she was not mistress of Kieley, she was still more comfortable here than Edward Bailey would ever be. "Mr Bailey, how do you do? Welcome to Kieley." They shook hands, the image of propriety. She took her favourite seat by the fire and gestured for him to return to his former place on the sofa.

He did so, discomforted by her apparent unconcern. "Lady Radford shall be here presently, I imagine, sir. You may have heard that her ladyship has not been in the best of health."

Edward looked up and Ruth was surprised to see that his face bore traces of real concern. "Indeed, I had not. I am sorry for it. And… have you been in health, Miss Evershed?" His hesitancy also surprised her - she had never seen Edward unsettled or lost for words during the whole of their long acquaintance. He, too, was feeling embarrassed and Ruth was charitable enough to wish to set him a little more at his ease.

"I am very well, thank you, Edward."

He nodded and seemed to relax a little, but there was still something troubling him. Ruth picked up some embroidery she had left nearby and applied herself to it, waiting for him to speak again, as he surely would. At last it came. His voice burst out into the calm silence of the room rather like a gunshot into a wood.

"Ma'am, you must allow me to beg your forgiveness for the exceedingly ungentlemanly way in which I behaved towards you at our last meeting. My actions were thoughtless, immoral and placed you in an impossible position. I can offer no excuses, and can only hope that you will not think so badly of me in future as you must at present."

Ruth's hands stilled on her embroidery and she looked up at him. There was silence for a long minute, a minute that seemed to crystallize into an hour before their eyes, and then Ruth half-smiled. "Be easy," she told him. "I will never look upon your behaviour that day with happiness, but I can forgive it and try to forget."

The gentleman closed his eyes and heaved a sigh deeply resonant of relief. "Thank you," he uttered fervently. "What you say, it relieves me indeed." His eyes flickered open and observed her. "My expression was uncouth, but please believe me when I say that my feelings were sincere." He leaned forwards, bracing his arms against his legs, urging her to understand him.

Ruth looked away. "Edward… if your feelings are sincere, then I can only be sorry that I do not return them. You are a good man, and I shall always think kindly of you in many respects, but I cannot love you as anything more than a brother. If this is a renewal of your offer, then I must tell you that I can never marry you."

At last she met his eyes again. The words had been difficult to speak - she wished to be plain, but not cruel, and she hoped that her intention had carried through. It seemed that it had. Edward rose and paced the room for a moment, his face furrowed in deep thought, his hands clasped behind his back. Miss Evershed observed him a little warily, but she need not have troubled herself. Momentarily, the gentleman shook himself out of his reverie and smiled reassuringly at her.

He offered a small bow and then, slowly, resumed his seat. "I see. Then, that being the case, I must present myself to you as perfectly willing to be your brother." They shared a smile, this time, the first one in many, many years, and then Edward, chin balanced on his hand, confided, "You know, I did not truly expect a favourable answer in that quarter. I had heard that…"

But he stopped, clearly unsure of whether or not to continue with this thought. Ruth raised a curious eyebrow. "Edward?" she prompted.

"Ruth, if I am to be your brother, then will you allow me to advise you as one?" he asked, and it seemed that he was now more serious than he had been during the whole of their present meeting. Taken aback, she nodded before she knew what she was about. "Of course. I should be very happy."

He steepled his fingers together and looked closely at her over them, framing his next words carefully. "Well, then. I had heard, and seen, that Sir Henry Pearce has been paying you a good deal of attention. Have you…" And here he paused once more, before carrying on. "Have you given thought to what your reply will be when he makes you an offer?"

Ruth's mouth was suddenly dry. The embroidery slipped unnoticed from her lap, with no hand to restrain it. Her eyes had gone wide and the room felt so very big as the question fell between them. Edward watched her calmly, awaiting an answer, but Ruth could not give him one. She rose from her seat and turned distractedly towards the window, trying to gain composure from the landscape outside.

"His offer?" she laughed quaveringly. "And what has made you so sure that he will make one? It would be a surprising choice, indeed."

Edward snorted impatiently and she heard his boots tramping across the floor as he moved to place himself next to her, with her face in view once more. "How 'surprising'?" he asked, coolly. "Allow me to show a little partiality, Ruth - you are intelligent, sensible, kind and rather charmingly pretty." The cynical clarity of his voice was spoiled somewhat by the warmth in his eyes, and his next words were to ruin it utterly. "There is no woman I should think a better choice."

Ruth blushed, highly confused. Edward, feigning disinterest, looked out of the window too. "How shall you answer him?" he repeated quietly.

And now an answer was truly required. _Oh, but she did not know how!_

"I - I hardly know," she admitted, eyes fixed on the waving trees in the distance.

Edward touched her shoulder, claiming her attention, and she looked obediently up at him. "Are you in love with Sir Henry?" he asked, gently, and there was no cynicism at all in his voice now. Had Lady Radford, or Elizabeth, asked her, Ruth would have blustered and tried to avoid the question - these people were too well-known to her for her to confess such thoughts. There would have been embarrassment on both sides, and, in Elizabeth's case, an unhappy tendency to ignore the disadvantages and promote the advantages in any given situation. She was stunned to realise that it was far easier to speak with Edward about these matters; they had known each other for a very long time, but despite sharing the same roof for almost two decades, they had rarely spoken of personal matters. Edward was so entirely removed from her relationship with Sir Henry - he had neither promoted nor discouraged it - and his simple questions were drawing out answers of sparkling clarity.

_Was that it, then?_ Was the startling, spontaneous, buoyant happiness that she felt when in Sir Henry's company - love? She had known of her attraction to him for some time, of course, but she had always shied away from giving it the name of love. Love was what happened to other people - upsetting their lives and ruining their composure and making them act in the strangest of ways. And she had not been upset! And her composure had remained… entirely composed. And…

Miss Evershed sighed. Perhaps it was time to admit the truth. "I - I… _yes_," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Edward took her hand and placed a perfunctory kiss upon her fingertips. "Then, my dear, I wish you very happy."


	22. Chapter 22

Following their extraordinary conversation on the day of his arrival, Ruth and Edward did not discuss Sir Henry again. Instead, they did what they should have done all along and learnt to be friends. They went on walks around the estate, discussed novels and poetry and reminisced about Susannah and the children. The preparations for the season were well underway at Kieley, too, and there was plenty for the pair to do in the way of hanging paper decorations and gathering greenery. Ruth spent one particularly amusing afternoon watching Edward struggle (ultimately unsuccessfully) to manhandle a Yule log across the estate. It seemed, too, that Lady Radford, while still not completely recovered from whatever illness had been plaguing her, was gaining strength and pleasure from the presence of another person in her house.

And so it was that, when the Norths arrived five days before Christmas Day, Ruth was happy to receive them and to reintroduce them to her brother-in-law. It was a smiling party that was gathered in the drawing room that evening, full of the joys of the approaching days - and the pleasure of several members of the party was increased greatly by the appearance of Sir Henry Pearce and his sister among them. Mrs Darnay's husband had, it seemed, had to return to town on business the day before, and thought it unlikely that he would be returning to the country for the rest of the season.

After greeting his hostess, Sir Henry had, of course, made his way immediately to Miss Evershed, who was seated by the fire, and whose conversation with Mrs North had broken off, conspicuously and suddenly, upon the gentleman's arrival.

"Good evening, Miss Evershed, Mrs North. I trust you are both in health?" he smiled down upon them.

Ruth smiled in return, but she could not help recalling her conversation with Edward and marvelling at the flutter in her chest, almost like dancing birds. "Y-yes, thank you, Sir Henry. I am sure we are all very glad that you have both been able to join us." And then, daringly, she admitted, "_I_ am very glad." She was rewarded by a widening of the gentleman's smile and his move to settle on the sofa opposite them. There followed a pleasant few moments of calm conversation. Sir Henry had been very much engaged in business with his estate for the past few weeks, and there had therefore been very little opportunity for him to call upon Miss Evershed.

"But I can see that you have been far more pleasantly occupied than I," he said, nodding at the boughs of holly that decorated the room. "How festive the room looks!" Ruth inclined her head, taking his thanks quietly.

"I have indeed been well occupied. I do not believe that I have had a moment to study or read at all in the past seven-night at least!" she laughed. The gentleman added a hearty chuckle of his own.

The laughter caught the attention of two other members of the party, who made their way separately to the little fireside group - Mrs Darnay and Mr Bailey. Ruth rose to welcome them, and made the necessary introductions, and reintroductions, carefully watching Edward's face as he was remembered to Sir Henry. But none of his knowledge showed as the gentlemen bowed to one another.

"Sir Henry. I'm delighted to see you again, sir. I do not believe that anyone can truly become acquainted in town."

Sir Henry's bow was less relaxed, his words less cheerful, and Ruth sensed that he was wary of this gentleman. In her less guarded moments, she had let slip certain nuggets of information to him about her shared history with Edward - he knew of the first failed marriage proposal, of Edward's subsequent marriage to Susannah, of the austerity with which he had treated his sister-in-law for much of her stay in his house, and had not been slow to express his disapprobation. He would not, of course, know of Edward and Ruth's new resolve of friendliness and amiability and Miss Evershed felt the desperate need to rescue him from a situation which might become embarrassing to both parties, but knew not how it could be accomplished.

However, Mrs Darnay seemed to have been pondering the same matter and brightly, she announced, "I understand from Miss Evershed that your daughter is married to a captain in the -th Foot, sir. My own husband was in the Army in his youth, before his father's death, and I still think on my days as an officer's wife with pleasure."

Both gentlemen relaxed visibly, and the talk turned effortlessly to military life, its trials and little delights, and so the time passed until the dinner gong was rung. Miss Evershed entered the dining room on Sir Henry's arm, positively glowing with happiness, and this fact did not go unnoticed. Lady Radford and Mrs North cast approving eyes over the couple and turned as one to smile quietly at each other - a silent congratulation on a job well done.

Miss Evershed's thoughts at dinner, however, while occupied to a large extent with Sir Henry's conversation, were also turning upon a question which she had to put to Rosalind. In the delights of country life, one might have imagined that Miss Evershed would have forgotten all about her intention to become a governess. One would have been wrong. She had promised Lady Radford that she would remain with her until the New Year; well, it was almost the New Year, and Ruth felt that she must start looking for situations, whatever might transpire between herself and Sir Henry in the foreseeable future. Lady Radford's apparent illness had only served to strengthen her resolve - her ladyship would do much better when not burdened by her goddaughter. Mrs North was intimately acquainted with much of polite society; if a family were searching for a governess, then she would know of it.

And so it was that, when the ladies retired to the drawing room after dinner, leaving the men of the party to their port and chatter, Ruth approached Rosalind to make her request. Mrs North was, to say the least, surprised. "I believed you had given up on the idea," she confessed disapprovingly. "A governess, indeed! You are quite comfortable here, are you not? You have no need to lower yourself and enter service!"

Ruth winced, as much at the tone of her old friend's voice as at her words. "It would not be 'entering service', precisely, Rosalind. I'm not intending to be a scullery maid. But I cannot remain here, living off Lady Radford's money. It would not be right." She folded her hands in her lap and repeated her question of a few minutes before. "Will you write to your acquaintances, and ask after any suitable positions?"

Mrs North gave an irritated sigh and at last nodded. "If that is what you wish, then I shall do so, of course. I heard somewhere that the Harrises' governess had left them last month - perhaps the situation will still be vacant." Her voice made it clear that she hoped very much that it would not. Ruth, however, smiled, if not a pleased, at least a grateful, smile and squeezed her friend's hand. "I am indebted to you, Rosalind. The knowledge that I have a place to go to in the New Year would relieve me from… some anxiety."

Rosalind's eyes sharpened. "Surely you do not think that Lady Radford plans to cast you out?"

Ruth reached out a placating hand. "No, her ladyship has shown me every kindness! But… she is ill, however much she attempts to deny it, and even though it may not be serious - and I pray that it is not - it cannot be conducive to her recovery to have a permanent guest in residence in her house."

Rosalind's face was grave but her reply was kind. "I am sure that Lady Radford does not consider you a guest, Ruth."

The door opened at that moment to admit the gentlemen, and the subsequent bustle and rearrangement of persons prevented Miss Evershed from replying, but the sad little smile that passed briefly over her face was enough that Mrs North found herself well able to imagine what that reply would have been, and she determined to speak to Sir Henry Pearce in private before the night was out.

Her chance came at the end of the evening - Sir Henry was returning to his own house that evening, as were several of the other guests, and everyone stepped out into the entrance hall to bid them farewell. When Rosalind could be sure that Ruth was occupied with the lengthy, formal civilities of old Sir Jeremy, and that Mrs Darnay was likewise occupied in conversation with Lady Radford and Mr Bailey, she caught Sir Henry's eye and contrived to lead him away a little distance from the main party.

"Goodbye, Harry. We shall see you tomorrow, I expect."

He inclined his head in silent acquiescence. "Indeed. I have promised to bring Miss Evershed a book from my library which she will undoubtedly enjoy." Rosalind smiled inwardly at the presentation of so obvious an opening for her tidings, and replied, "How kind of you! Doubtless Miss Evershed shall miss your kind attentions when she leaves Kieley."

The gentleman's face seemed to crinkle in surprise, but he was well-practiced in dissembling and it soon smoothed once more. But he had been affected by the news, Mrs North could tell. "Forgive me, ma'am," he said at length. "I had not heard that Miss Evershed had plans to leave Kieley in the foreseeable future."

Rosalind occupied herself with admiring a vase of Christmas greenery and forced herself to sound as unconcerned as possible when she replied. "Yes, indeed. She never intended to make a long stay with her godmother, you know - she has asked me to look out for governessing situations." The gentleman froze and his low exclamation of, "Good God!" showed that his mild surprise had deepened into stunned shock. "Miss Evershed a governess? Impossible!" He was attempting, in vain, to cover his shock with false bravado, trying to convince himself that it was not true.

Rosalind made no reply, and at last Sir Henry seemed to accept that what she had told him was true. "With Lady Radford so ill?" he asked quietly, his head turning to observe the two ladies of whom they spoke. Of course, he would have noticed the transformation in his usually sprightly neighbour, and drawn his own conclusions.

Rosalind followed his eye. "I understand from Lady Radford that Ruth is not aware of how serious the ailment is - and that her ladyship is quite content with the situation as it stands." She had admitted some uneasiness to Lady Radford at the nature of the deception, but what could be done? Ruth appeared aware, in any case, that all was not well - but to break Lady Radford's confidence so completely would be unsupportable.

Sir Henry contemplated this information with an impassive countenance. "I see," he murmured at last. "Why are you telling me this, Rosalind?"

Mrs North raised an elegant eyebrow and sighed. "You are an intelligent man, Harry. I should have thought my intention obvious." His eyes flickered over her shoulder, fixed on Miss Evershed, unsure and yet completely certain.

"Then… you think she would not be averse to a… a declaration?" His voice was shakier than she had ever heard it before. She drew closer and informed him smugly, "Her face lit up when you entered the drawing room." Rosalind paused for a moment to allow the full effect of her words to take hold, and then, retreating once more behind her customary mask of cool irony, she advised him, "Go and play the romantic hero, Harry - save her from a life of servitude, live happily ever after with her at Middlethorpe, and bore us all to death with your bliss."

Sir Henry's lips quivered into an appreciative smile. He bowed and she curtsied.

"As always, Mrs North, I shall consider your excellent advice very carefully. Very carefully indeed."

* * *

><p><strong>And next time... a proposal?<strong>


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Thanks for all your lovely comments about the last couple of chapters. Thought I'd put this chapter up quickly, because it's been hanging around on my hard-drive for the past two years now. It was the first chapter I wrote when I started this fic, and as such, it has a special place in my heart. Hope it's as enjoyable (in an odd sort of way) for you to read as it was for me to write...**

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><p>For a few days after that, Kieley was quiet, apart from the usual morning calls and household business. Sir Henry brought books for Miss Evershed, but he seemed distracted and always to be watching her and it confused her greatly. Once or twice she tried discussing the matter with Rosalind, but her old friend denied that she had noticed any change in Sir Henry's behaviour and so Miss Evershed was forced to accept that she was either imagining the situation, or that the significance of it would be soon revealed to her, for good or bad.<p>

Christmas Eve brought news of both kinds, at least to Mrs North's mind. A letter arrived from Elizabeth bearing seasons' greetings to the whole party; she wrote that Captain Levendis was wearying of the army, and was considering selling his commission and returning to England. A slight leg wound from the previous month was adding force to his thoughts, it seemed, but Ruth knew that with a man such as Captain Levendis, no decision was certain until it had actually been carried out. She would not put too high a value on Elizabeth's words for the present.

The news of bad import was addressed in a letter to Mrs North herself. Lady Harris had written back to her, post haste, expressing delight that Rosalind had been able to put her in the way of acquiring such an apparently good governess for her offspring. Miss Evershed, with her education and experience in both raising children and moving in polite society, would be perfect for the position. Perhaps Mrs North would inquire on her behalf as to whether Miss Evershed would be willing to take the position? For a moment, Rosalind considered burning the letter and replying to Lady Harris in the negative, but deception in a matter such as this would be abhorrent. Ruth had asked for her help and she had acquiesced - that was an end to the matter.

But she regretted the decision when she had handed the letter to Ruth herself to read. The latter's face seemed to crumple somewhat as she did so and then she straightened her shoulders as one who was preparing for a great ordeal. Her smile was too wide and bright to possibly be genuine. "Oh, Rosalind, how shall I ever thank you? It is just what I want!"

Rosalind pursed her lips in irritation. "If I could believe that, my dear, then I should accept your thanks without question. As it is…"

Impulsively, Ruth embraced her. "As it is, I shall always be grateful for the help you have given me, and the friendship that you have shown me, Rosalind. Please don't be anxious on my account."

The chance of this, Mrs North silently told herself, was very slim indeed. All she could hope for now was that Sir Henry would make his offer before Miss Evershed had a chance to accept the quite different one she had already received.

* * *

><p>Christmas Day dawned with the smell of roasting goose and the soft, dim sound of falling snow. Miss Evershed woke up with a smile on her face, which had been a more and more common occurrence over the past few weeks, and allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of being completely at peace with herself. The sensation would, she knew, not last once the season was over and she had taken up her new position.<p>

She cast aside her less pleasant thoughts and the sheets and dressed. The whole party would be attending church together, and then conveying Mr Wynn-Jones and his mother to Kieley for the rest of the day. There would be joy in that, and in Sir Henry's presence too, and she had no right to ask for more. She examined her face closely in the mirror, sliding in the last of her hairpins, and then attempted a smile. It was shaky and thin, but it would suffice. It had to.

But something arrived over breakfast that transformed this facade of happiness into true joy. When Ruth entered the breakfast room, only Miss Norwood, the daughter of some of Lady Radford's neighbours, was present. She was a pleasant enough girl, but Ruth was not so well acquainted with her that the prospect of any length of time spent alone with her was cheering. However, as she sat down, the door opened and Berry entered, bearing a small wrapped parcel on a tray. A gift for Miss Norwood from one of her suitors, no doubt. Miss Evershed had noticed that young Mr Foxton had been paying her close attention for the past few days - perhaps he was the sender. The prospect somehow depressed her. But to her deep surprise, Berry approached her and, bending down, murmured, "This has arrived for you, Miss Evershed." Curious, she accepted it before she knew what she did. "Oh? I - I'm not expecting anything, Berry. Who delivered it?"

"A man from the village, ma'am. I asked from whom it was, but he said that he had been paid well to keep his silence." He frowned as he spoke; any person so obviously devoted to the mistress as Miss Evershed was earnt an instant place in Berry's affections, and he was anxious to protect 'the young lady', as he privately thought of her. "I do hope that everything is all right, Miss Evershed."

Ruth smiled at him cheerfully. "Yes, of course! It shall be nice to have a mystery to puzzle over! Merry Christmas, Berry, and thank you." Berry bowed, not entirely convinced, and withdrew. Miss Evershed opened the parcel carefully, revealing a book and a folded note. She opened it quickly and read. _To one who will appreciate this gift, with the warmest wishes of the season._ The handwriting was by no means unfamiliar.

With heightened colour, she turned her attention to the book itself. A copy of Ovid's _Heroides_. He had been perfectly right in his choice. She smiled over the gift and set it down beside her plate. Miss Norwood glanced over. "Oh, a book! How delightful! Whoever can it be from, Miss Evershed?"

Hastily, Ruth folded the note back up and slipped it carefully into her reticule. If the gift had been sent secretly, why, then its sender would remain anonymous. "I do not know. There was no note," she replied calmly.

Miss Norwood clapped her hands together in delight. "How exciting, Miss Evershed! I am sure I should find it most thrilling to receive a anonymous parcel!"

Ruth inclined her head. "Indeed." The coolness of her reply had the desired effect, at least - Miss Norwood coloured, recognising the implicit rebuke, and returned to her breakfast. Ruth rested her hand on the book and shook her head wonderingly.

_How wonderful of him!_

* * *

><p>The rest of the morning passed off very well. The Kieley party made their way down to the church in their various carriages and curricles, and afterwards returned to the manor house. Once the spiritual business of the day had been dealt with, so to speak, the guests felt themselves able to relax somewhat and enjoy the more secular festivities. Lady Radford's cook had outdone herself, and the fat roasted goose and trimmings were a source of delight to all. Small gifts were exchanged between those who knew each other best, but not a word or a look passed between Sir Henry and Miss Evershed until the afternoon was drawing on.<p>

At this point, Sir Henry mustered his courage, interrupted the quiet conversation that was going on between Miss Evershed and Mrs North while they watched the younger members of the party playing a game of charades. "Perhaps you would care to take a turn about the grounds with me Miss Evershed? I find myself in need of some air."

Miss Evershed smiled up at him, a little confused, but receptive nonetheless. "I should be glad to accompany you, sir." Rising, she hurried off to find a pelisse and bonnet, while Sir Henry remained with Mrs North. She gave him a questioning look, but the gentleman merely returned her gaze steadily, leaving Rosalind to draw her own conclusions.

* * *

><p>The grounds were covered in a thick dusting of snow, and more was already floating through the air, but neither Sir Henry nor Miss Evershed were paying the slightest attention to it. The former was wondering how to embark upon a matter of great import, and the latter was asking herself whether it would be terribly improper to remark upon the gift which her companion had gone to such lengths to give secretly. At last, she decided that she would risk it.<p>

"I must thank you for my book, Sir Henry," she smiled as they approached the bridge near the old summerhouse. "It was very much appreciated." The gentleman's answering grin was enough to convince her that she had made the right decision. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at her as they continued walking. "It is not a new copy, I am afraid - merely an old edition that was sitting in my library, gathering dust," he admitted, somewhat embarrassed. "I thought that it would find a good home with you."

The thought that the book had once sat in his house, in his library, as his possession strangely thrilled her, but she forced herself to speak calmly. "Indeed it shall," she replied. A sudden thought made her smile. "But I fear that the anonymity of the giver piqued Miss Norwood's curiosity very much."

"She informed me of the 'great mystery' when I arrived this morning. I struggled somewhat to keep my countenance, ma'am. I take it that you did not trouble to enlighten her?"

She blushed and her voice was very quiet when she said, "It did not seem… proper." Sir Henry seemed to jump, surprised. His head had twisted around to search her face for any trace of disapproval or shame, and his voice was anxious when he asked, "The gift has made you uncomfortable? Forgive me, I - "

She raised her hand, quick to reassure him. "No, not in the slightest, sir. But I felt that it would give rise to unnecessary gossip, were I to make it known that you had given me the book. Very few people would understand the nature of our friendship, I fear."

He appeared to relax somewhat, and for a moment stared out over the frozen stream. "Undoubtedly you acted for the best, as always." Now was the moment, if he was ever to speak the words that had been revolving in his head for so many months. He cleared his throat carefully. "In fact, it was of our friendship that I wished to speak."

"Oh?" She seemed surprised, curious perhaps; she had tilted her head on one side, just so, in that birdlike way that he so adored, drawing forth confidences and confessions alike. They had reached the bridge, and he turned to look out at the stream, bracing his arms against the intricate stone balustrade. She watched him silently, hands clasped before her. "Miss Evershed… Ruth… you know well, I think, how much I admire you. Your talents, your abilities… and we rub along quite comfortably together, do we not?" He tilted his head round, almost pleadingly, and added, "You are not afraid of me, and you do not think my informalities improper…" Sir Henry trailed off, and Miss Evershed sensed that some sort of reply was needed. "No, sir," she replied, with a little hesitancy.

He nodded, but he appeared distracted. "Well, then, I was rather hoping… it would make me very happy if…" He pressed a hand to his temples, and his next words were uttered with more frustration than was common in such situations. "Blast it! I've no deuced skill at this, Ruth! I want you to marry me." There, it was said - now he had only to wait for her reply.

There was silence. He chanced a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She had stepped forwards to stand at his side. Her head was bowed down, focused on the two hands which gripped the stonework of the bridge tightly. She was trembling. At last, the words came. "Marry you, Sir Henry?" She sounded stunned, wondering, breathless… He was not sure what it all meant. Anxiety was paradoxically making him calmer. Gruffly, he repeated, "Aye, marry me." He reached out slowly and rested his hand on her arm. "I've been a bachelor too long. I don't want to end my days rattling around Middlethorpe alone, growing bitter and set in my ways. I don't want my funeral to be one of those dreadful affairs with only six mourners present, all of 'em only there in the hope they've cropped up in my will, and I don't want that for you either, Ruth." He paused, and then admitted, in trembling accents, "You have become too dear to me for that."

The lady released a shuddering breath and raised a hand to her lips. "I do not know… I did not expect…" she breathed, _and still she would not face him._

In later years, Sir Henry would look back upon this moment, and wonder why he acted as he did next. Perhaps he had been overwhelmed by the terrifying prospect of her refusal. Perhaps it had been a clumsy attempt to remind her of the advantages of the match. Perhaps his impatience had simply got the better of him. In any case, the words had slipped from his mouth before he could even think of reasons to stop them. "Would you prefer to die a pensioned-out ex-governess?"

It was no exaggeration to say that she froze in that moment. He _felt_ her arm stiffen beneath the hand that was still resting there, in defiance of all proprieties. Then, very slowly and carefully, as though she was vainly grasping at the reins of her temper, she said, "You have been speaking to Mrs North, sir." It sounded like a question, but he knew her well enough to realise that it was not. At last, she looked up at him, and he saw that the wide-eyed wonderment and delight in her eyes was dying, to be replaced by hurt and humiliation, and _anger_.

He could sense her slipping away from him and grasped vainly at an excuse. "She informed me that she had found you a position that she thought would suit you very well, and I could not in all conscience allow you to leave without having spoken my mind." It was useless, and he knew it. She kept her pride well hidden, but it was there nonetheless.

"I see." Fuming, she stared angrily up at him. "I believed you to be the last man on earth who would mock me."

He frowned, bewildered, and removed his hand. "Mock you?"

"Aye, mock me!" With an effort, she controlled her temper and lowered her voice. "I am well aware of my position, Sir Henry. I know the feelings you claim to have to be impossible!" She rested a hand on the stonework once more, steadying herself under the weight of her disappointment. "How _dare_ you presume to come here and propose marriage to me? How _dare_ you pity me?"

Sir Henry had the sensation of sinking into a nightmare. Miss Evershed was glaring up at him in her distress, and he could only repeat her words and hope. "Pity you? I do not - "

Tears pricked at her eyes at the sound of his lies and she could not bear to listen to them any more. "How could you _ever_ think me capable of marrying a man whose feelings towards me extend only to friendship?" She had heard of such marriages, of course she had - a woman gaining the security of her husband's name and position, with little further involvement. The husband would take a mistress, several mistresses if he chose, the wife would have lovers; if the husband were a kind man, he might even acknowledge her illegitimate children as his own. Their domestic arrangements would be as separate as their lives. The thought turned her stomach! How _could_ he think her so mercenary? And then there were her own feelings to consider. "Especially a man… a man whom I…" She paused, recollecting herself, and searched for the correct words. At last, she found them and he suddenly realised that he had most seriously misjudged the situation. It was not her pride that he had wounded, but her heart. "There is no man whom, at this moment, I despise more! I _refuse_ to marry you!"

His face hardened and silence fell around them along with the snow. At last, he bowed stiffly. His voice was not cold, however - it was simply emotionless. The passion of a few short moments ago, feigned or not, had vanished. "As you wish, ma'am. Forgive me for my… what was your phrase?" His lip curled almost sneeringly. "Ah yes, my _presumption_. I shall not trespass upon your notice any further. Good day to you, Miss Evershed."

He marched away, shoulders and back rigidly straight, and Ruth was left alone on the bridge to weep in the snow and watch her dreams of what might have been crumble into insignificance like so much dust.

* * *

><p>"Rosalind?"<p>

The knock at her dressing-room door was unexpected, but Mrs North allowed herself a brief, private smile of anticipation as she realised that her evening visitor was Ruth. No doubt she had come to reveal her engagement to Sir Henry. Opening the door, Rosalind was momentarily shaken by the evidence of recent, heavy weeping in her friend's red, swollen eyes - but, then, many women, when confronted by the proposals of the man with whom they had so clearly fallen in love, were apt to be reduced to a fit of tears. "Good evening, Ruth. Won't you co - ?"

But she was not permitted to finish her sentence. Quietly and determinedly, Ruth interrupted, "No, thank you, Rosalind. I merely came to ask you to write to Lady Harris and inform her that I should be delighted to take up her offer." Rosalind could not hide her shock. For a moment, she merely looked at her friend, eyes wide and mouth half-open in surprise. At last, she shook herself slightly, and forced herself into speech. "Delighted to…? But - Ruth, I…" She paused, feeling suddenly quite faint. No one had ever, in all her life, succeeded in causing so much turmoil in her heart and mind. After a short silence, she began again, more controlled this time. "Forgive me. I quite thought you had come to tell me something _very_ different indeed."

Ruth's face seemed to harden. In that moment, she might as well have been made of marble; her tone of voice was curt when she answered. "If you mean that you expected me to inform you of my engagement to Sir Henry Pearce, then I can only apologise. We met this morning, he made me an offer and I refused him. I should be grateful if you would write the letter for me, Rosalind."

Her friend nodded, still somewhat anxious. "If you wish it, then of course I shall oblige you. But may I not be permitted to know why you refused him?"

Ruth smiled and pressed her hand, but it was not the sort of smile to inspire any sort of confidence in the equanimity of her feelings. Indeed, she rather looked on the verge of further tears. "One day, Rosalind, I shall tell you everything. One day, when we are both old women. At present, I am in no humour for confessionals."

Rosalind tightened her hold on Ruth's hand, frowning deeply. "Ruth, I have known you since I was thirteen years old, and never once have you refused to tell me anything. Please. I - I am concerned." The words were difficult to utter and had she not been feeling so wretched, Ruth would have laughed.

"There is no need, truly," she insisted. "You will write to Lady Harris?"

Mrs North's eyes widened at Miss Evershed's obsession with this fact. "_Yes_. I have already given you my promise, Ruth. I shall write tomorrow morning."

Ruth closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of something akin to relief. "I shall be eternally grateful to you, Rosalind. Goodnight."

Rosalind's voice was troubled when she belatedly replied. "Goodnight, Ruth."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So… You didn't really think it was going to be that simple, did you? This is Harry and Ruth - and they're frustrating whatever century you put them in. A note on the weather - I don't in fact know whether or not it snowed in Yorkshire on Christmas Day 1812, but since this year was one of the worst on record weather-wise at the time (with the harvest in many places in Yorkshire only being finished in the second week of November!), it's a distinct possibility. 1813-14 was even worse, I understand. The idea of adults exchanging gifts at Christmastime was also not common, although children did get a present.<strong>


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter... and I'm afraid it isn't any happier than the last one.**

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><p>Miss Evershed did not sleep easily in her bed that night. She lay awake, alternately weeping and fuming, and it was only when dawn's light broke over Kieley that she at last drifted into fitful sleep. She awoke much later, to the clattering sounds of people descending the stairs to breakfast, but the new day found her in low spirits and nursing a nauseating headache. She had never felt so listless and it took a great deal of willpower not to simply turn over in bed and go back to sleep. Nevertheless, she dressed and made her way downstairs - her absence would be noticed by Lady Radford and would only invite awkward questions.<p>

In the breakfast parlour, Ruth helped herself to a fortifying cup of tea, glad that her tardiness meant she would not have to endure any company as she did so. Or so she believed. She had not got beyond her fourth sip when the door opened and Edward entered. "Good morning, Ruth!" he smiled merrily, and then he caught a glimpse of her face and halted, his geniality checked. "Good God, are you quite well?"

His sister-in-law smiled wanly. "Good morning, Edward. I am well enough - I have a slight headache…"

He frowned, disbelieving, and took a seat. For a while, there was a peaceable silence, and then Edward asked, "And would your headache have manifested itself had you not taken a walk about the grounds with Sir Henry Pearce yesterday?"

She jumped as though scalded, and spilt her tea in the saucer. Then, in stunned accents, she whispered, "However have you come to such a conclusion?" Edward removed the cup from her hands - they were trembling so badly that he feared for the safety of Miss Evershed's gown - and set it down on the table between them before replying.

"Sir Henry departed immediately after your conversation. You returned to the house half an hour later looking as though the sky had fallen in on your head and this morning you seem… sadder than I have ever known you. Might I inquire as to what passed between you?"

Ruth shook her head, but Edward's hand on her arm made her pause. "Please, my dear. You look so very unhappy. I should like to help." Kindness was the last thing Miss Evershed felt she could bear; before she knew it, she was weeping into her handkerchief.

At last, she raised her head, and admitted, "Sir Henry made me an offer of marriage yesterday." Edward frowned and opened his mouth to interrupt, but she shook her head and continued very quickly, "It is not what you think. He… he only… only offered out of friendship."

"_Friendship?_" Edward echoed hollowly. "Did he say so outright?"

Ruth shook her head again and wiped her eyes. "No. But some things need not be said for them to be obvious." She rose and turned away to the window. "'Tis done, Edward. He will not come again."

Her brother-in-law was quiet for a very long time. He hardly knew what to say. "And you, my dear? What shall you do now?"

"Rosalind - Mrs North - has written to Lady Harris, to accept their offer of employment on my behalf. I shall leave after the New Year." Edward was by her side in a moment, his hand reaching urgently for her own. "My dear, you cannot - "

She smiled wanly. "I can, Edward. I must." Her voice was light, but there was a touch of steel under it that gave Mr Bailey pause. Had he had his way, Ruth should have been settled in his home as his wife by now, to be cared for and _loved_ for the rest of her days. But her will was as strong as his own and there would be no chance of such an offer ever being accepted. That was abundantly clear.

Even so, he sighed. "I suppose I cannot make you another offer. If you would not accept Sir Henry, you will certainly not accept me."

Her smile widened. "No," she agreed softly. "Now, do not feel sorry for me. It was all a silly dream, my dear Edward - and now it is over. All shall be well again, soon enough."

Unfortunately Mr Bailey did not share Miss Evershed's quiet confidence.


	25. Chapter 25

The rest of the season passed quietly. Sir Henry did not make a return to Middlethorpe and Ruth heard that he had returned to London. She had felt more than a twinge of pain at this news, but had swallowed it down. Doubtless in the future, she would hear his name, hear details of his career, perhaps receive news of his marriage, but she would have to grow used to it. Their lives were no longer to be connected; she had made sure of that.

The most difficult part of the situation, after her conversation with Edward, had been explaining to Lady Radford what had happened. Her godmother had looked at her, wide-eyed with surprise for several moments, and then, presently, had taken both of Ruth's hands with her own and squeezed them very tightly. "Oh, my dear child, I am so very sorry."

Tears pricked Ruth's eyes. "Then you aren't… angry, ma'am? Angry that I refused him? It would have been a very good match, after all."

Lady Radford tutted with disapproval. "Only if he had loved you as you deserve, my dear. Why should I be angry that you have been courageous enough to recognise your feelings for what they are and act upon them? But are you quite sure that Sir Henry only feels friendship towards you?"

Ruth nodded. "Yes. He's a very kind, very honourable man, and when Rosalind told him about the offer from the Harrises, I expect he wished to… help, in some way. To marry him would have been unspeakably unfair to both of us."

Lady Radford sighed. "Perhaps you are right, then. So you are intent upon leaving here, then?"

Her goddaughter smiled and stood up, smoothing out her skirts. "I am. Especially now, after what has happened. How awkward it would be, to live so close to Middlethorpe and be constantly in society with Sir Henry! I am glad he is gone back to London!"

And if she was not being entirely truthful, she was the only one to know.

* * *

><p>Miss Evershed departed Kieley on the second of January, 1813, at barely seven o'clock in the morning. Indeed, Lady Radford was still abed - Ruth had had to send Gibbons, her ladyship's abigail, in to wake her in order that she might bid her farewell. It had been a rather despondent few minutes; neither lady was wholly pleased at the events the day would bring, but nor was either of them admitting this fact. Lady Radford had extracted a promise of correspondence from her goddaughter and kissed both her cheeks warmly, and now Ruth waited downstairs, on the house steps, as John assisted the coachman in loading the remainder of her luggage.<p>

"Miss Evershed."

She jumped, and turned in the direction of the drive. It was the last voice she had expected. They had not spoken to each other since Christmas Day, after all. Whatever was he doing here, so early? "Sir Henry! I thought you to be in London." She dropped him a brief curtsey and busied herself in watching the loading of her portmanteau onto the roof of the carriage. He stepped up beside her, but did not reply for a long time, and when he did, it was not in answer to her question.

"So you are leaving then, ma'am," he murmured quietly.

She turned and nodded coolly. "Indeed, sir." Then, she reached for the small parcel she had placed inside her reticule. She had intended to ask Mr Wynn-Jones to deal with it, but Sir Henry himself was here now; there was no need to involve another in the matter. She held the package out and he took it automatically. "Sir, I feel I should return this book," she explained. "It was given in a spirit of friendship which I do not imagine you still to feel."

Instantly, he passed it back to her, his face white. "On the contrary, ma'am, I should be very unhappy to ever have it in my possession again."

The words sunk into her head slowly and painfully. Then, he could not bear to have any reminder of her in his house. He wished to forget her completely. Fleetingly, she wondered what she would have been doing at this moment, had she accepted him. They would have been making wedding plans. He would have, she felt sure, continued to treat her with the kindness and courtesy which had thus far characterised their relationship - and she would have been trapped in a cycle of helpless gratitude and guilt. "I see," she whispered, at last. And then, numbly, "Goodbye, Sir Henry."

He took her hand and kissed it, lips cold and impersonal through the leather of her gloves. "Goodbye, Miss Evershed." He led her to the carriage and handed her up into it. "Thank you," she murmured, but he had already turned away. She sat down and shut the door. A moment later, she heard him speak to the driver and the wheels clattered beneath her as the coachman whipped up the horses. Miss Evershed sat back in her seat and turned her head away, avoiding the sight of him.

He watched her carriage until it was out of sight. Lines of a song floated unbidden into his head and he murmured them through numb lips - a promise to be kept. "_And fare thee weel, my only Luve, and fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my Luve, tho' it were ten thousand mile."_


	26. Chapter 26

Sir Henry returned to London the same day. He had only gone back to Yorkshire at the suggestion of Mrs North, after all, and Miss Evershed had made it perfectly clear that she wished for nothing more to do with him. There were more pressing matters awaiting him in London, after all, but even a long ride back to the city had done little to erase from his mind the image of her pale, drawn, sad face as she was driven away from him.

There had been good news of a sort, however. Upon his return to the War Office, he had been greeted with the news that Captain White and Lieutenant Quinn had at last some news to report from France. After weeks of silence, Fontaine had made a move. He had, according to White's report, made contact with a man whom they believed might be the go-between, a slight man with pale blonde hair. Of course, they would have to observe Fontaine closely for several more weeks, even months, to ensure that they had the right man, but it was a start.

Sir Henry forced himself to feel some joy at the prospect of stoppering the leaks from the War Office, but his whole heart felt hollow. What did it truly matter, when miles away, Ruth was suffering? He sighed deeply, and reached for the cabinet in his desk, which contained a bottle of whiskey and a glass. However, before he had retrieved the glass and bottle, there was the sound of running footsteps - a rather unusual occurrence in the War Office, surprisingly enough - and then the door burst open, to reveal one of the corporals who usually occupied the Office's entrance hall, with Sergeant Wells hot on his heels. "Sir, I did try to tell him - "

"Whatever has occurred, Corporal, to make you believe it is acceptable to burst, unannounced, into a superior officer's study?" Sir Henry snapped, standing up.

The young corporal gulped and wilted. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's Captain Carter - "

"What about him?"

The corporal glanced pleadingly over his shoulder at Sergeant Wells and then turned back to Sir Henry. "He's been shot, sir. You'd best come quick."

* * *

><p>It was all over surprisingly quickly. When Sir Henry arrived in the entrance hall of the War Office a few moments later, it was to the sight of Captain Carter lying on his back on the floor, his head pillowed on someone's jacket. Quite a crowd had gathered, among them Major North.<p>

"Lucas - what happened?"

Major North turned from his observation of Carter's state, face stricken. "We spoke just before he left - about the new agents he's been training up. He walked outside, and then we heard the shots. Two of them, in quick succession. There must have been more than one man, no one could reload a gun that quickly. Foster and I ran outside and found him on the steps. We brought him back in here and sent someone for a doctor, but - " He shrugged helplessly and gestured down at Carter. The bloodstains showed clearly even on his red jacket - blooming over his heart and chest.

Harry sighed and clapped North's shoulder. "Don't worry." He knelt down next to his old friend and comrade. "Adam? How do you feel?"

Carter's eyes flickered open and he let out a rasping laugh. "Capital, Harry. Never better." He coughed and his lips were brightened with the first traces of blood. A wince of pain ran around the gathered soldiers and Carter clutched at Harry's jacket.

"They were waiting for one of us to come out, Harry, I'm sure of it. Cloaked and masked, both of them." Carter paused, gasping for breath, and Harry covered his hand with his own. "Steady, Captain Carter," he ordered, his voice that of a commanding officer on the field of battle. "Plenty of time for all that later."

Carter no longer had the energy to laugh, but he rolled his eyes anyway. "Don't be a bloody fool, Harry. I'm not long for this world. Please… promise me you'll take care of Wes. Tell him I'm sorry. So sorry for everything."

Harry nodded, already making plans. "Of course I'll take care of him."

Carter's hand tightened around his, fractionally, momentarily and then his grip loosened and his breathing - slow and rustling as it had been for the past few minutes - quietened even more and finally stopped. Sir Henry and Major North remained there in silence for long minutes, unable to believe that their friend and comrade was gone, until they were awoken from their grief-filled reverie by a commotion at the door as the doctor, finally, arrived.

* * *

><p>To tell a seven year old boy that his father, the hero of his young life, has died is an unenviable task for anyone. For a man such as Sir Henry, who was so estranged from his own children that he could barely remember what it was to be a father, let alone a father to a seven year old boy, it was almost impossible. Somehow he stumbled through it and held the child as the first rough sobs shook his tiny frame, until Carter's highly capable Scottish housekeeper, Mrs McGregor, appeared at the nursery door, face white and shocked to hear the young master crying.<p>

One look at Sir Henry's tired, helpless expression was enough to inform her of what had happened and she hurried forward, soothing murmurs of sympathy already escaping her lips, to take Wesley into her own arms. Sir Henry made his escape and went downstairs to the drawing room, to consider what was to be done next. He would write to his butler, Hill, at Middlethorpe, of course. Arrangements would have to be made to transfer young Wesley there at the earliest possible opportunity. There were, of course, educational establishments which would be willing to take a boy of Wesley's age and means, but seven really was no age to be sent away from home, especially not when the child in question was an orphan. Besides, Carter had employed a very intelligent, young, energetic tutor for the boy after Mrs Carter's death, and had always spoken very highly of him.

There was a knock at the door and said tutor walked in. He, too, looked exhausted and grieved. Captain Carter had been a fair and kind employer, as well as a loyal friend and excellent officer. He would be sadly missed by all. "Sir Henry?" the young man asked. "I'm Charles Hamley, Wesley's tutor."

"Good afternoon, Mr Hamley."

"Good afternoon, sir. I want to speak to you about what will happen to Wesley, now that Captain Carter is dead." Harry nodded, satisfied. He liked Mr Hamley, with his frankness and open manner, already. They would get along perfectly well, he felt.

"I am Wesley's godfather, Mr Hamley, and Captain Carter charged me with his welfare," he explained.

Hamley frowned and it seemed to Sir Henry that he squared his shoulders as he did so. "Do you intend for Wesley to go away to school? I suppose you won't want such a burden at your own house, sir."

Sir Henry sat down and gestured for Hamley to do the same. The tutor remained standing. "He's distraught," Hamley continued. "He's upstairs now with Mrs McGregor, crying himself to sleep." He paused and ran a hand through his already slightly messy brown hair. "I don't say this for fear of my own employment, sir. But that boy needs stability and security, not to be… uprooted… hundreds of miles away, away from all familiar faces!"

Harry waited for Hamley to finish his rant and then raised one elegant eyebrow. "Are you quite finished, Mr Hamley?"

The young man gave a short nod. Harry smiled tightly. "Good. I am in perfect agreement with you. Are you at liberty to escort Wesley to Middlethorpe, my home in Yorkshire, and continue tutoring him?"

Now Hamley did sit, overwhelmed with relief on the behalf of his young charge. "Yes. Yes, of course! Sir Henry - "

Harry raised a hand, cutting off any apology. "Don't trouble yourself, Mr Hamley. I believe that Captain Carter would have been proud to know Wesley has such an assiduous guardian."

Hamley flushed slightly and ducked his head. Harry continued. "I'll make arrangements at Middlethorpe." He rose and extended his hand for Mr Hamley to shake. "I hope to see you again very soon. Good day to you, Mr Hamley."

* * *

><p>Sir Henry had hoped that the worst of the day was over. He was wrong. On returning to the War Office, he found Major North awaiting him. "No word on the men who shot Captain Carter, sir. They were cloaked and masked, as Carter said - little way of tracing them."<p>

Harry nodded heavily. "Hired for their purpose, no doubt. I worry, Lucas. First myself, now Carter."

"You?"

He grimaced. "Just before Christmas. I was on my way to Middlethorpe. I was distracted and was trailed. He shot me and got away before I saw him properly. Luckily… a local woman was passing by and helped."

Lucas brushed a frustrated hand through his hair. "You should have informed someone, sir! If they felt they could shoot a Colonel - and a baronet to boot! - with impunity, what would have prevented them from murdering a Captain?"

Harry turned away. "You're right, of course. I want you to take a few corporals home with you, Lucas." When Major North opened his mouth to protest, Harry raised his eyebrows. "For Rosalind's sake, if not for your own. You say they have no scruples - what makes you believe they would not stoop to harming your wife? Or any woman who got in their way?" He thought briefly of Miss Evershed, and then shook himself slightly. Miss Evershed had no connection any longer to anyone involved in this case.

Lucas's mouth tightened. At last, he nodded shortly. "Very well. If you promise to do the same."

They shook on it. Harry tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk. "Someone is attempting to warn us away from this investigation, Lucas."

"Mace?"

Harry shrugged. "Perhaps. I - "

There was a knock at the door and the men broke off. "Come in!" called Harry, and the door opened to reveal a sandy haired young man in the uniform of a sergeant. "Excuse me, Sir Henry, Major North - I've some papers for you to sign, sir." He held up the sheaf in his hands and Lucas made a brief noise of irritation. "Alright, Edwards. Sir Henry, my secretary, Sergeant Edwards."

Harry nodded, but he was distracted by something in the man's appearance and mannerisms. Had they met before? He felt sure that they had… Shaking himself mentally, he began to arrange the paperwork on his own desk. North's words had struck a chord with him; he was right. Had Harry reported his own misfortune to the War Office at the time, perhaps security would have been tightened. Perhaps Carter would not have - He pursed his lips together. That was, perhaps, a cross that he would simply have to bear. One of many.

* * *

><p>He was relieved to arrive home that evening. Hill met him in the hall to remove his coat and hat, and looked about to say something. Sir Henry was in no mood for conversation, however, and merely walked past him into the library. There would be a warm fire, and whiskey, and books to comfort him in his grief there. But when he shut the door behind him and turned, that was not all that he found.<p>

A tall, slim, decidedly feminine figure stood by one of the shelves, examining the books. A half-drunk glass of ruby wine lay abandoned on the reading desk. The woman turned as he entered and cast him a smile which once upon a time he had found bewitching, enchanting, the promise of all pleasures. Now, his face twisted in disgust. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Lady Shaw's smile widened and she walked smoothly towards him. "Now, now, Harry - language," she chided mockingly. "Hill has a long memory - and an even longer tooth! He must be seventy if he's a day." Ignoring this assault on his butler's person, Sir Henry marched over to his drinks cabinet and poured himself a whiskey. "What are you doing here?" It was not, of course, the first time that he and Juliet had stood in this library and shared drinks. Perhaps it was partly the remembrance of all those other occasions that was unsettling him now. Her skirts rustled behind him again and he could feel her standing very close behind him. She leaned over his shoulder and her fragrant perfume met his nostrils. He had once found this attractive, too. His mouth tightened and he felt his shoulders tense; Juliet chuckled lightly and moved away. "I thought I would come and offer some sympathy to an old friend. Two tragedies in one month. Poor, unlucky Captain Carter, dead on the streets… and poor, foolish Miss Evershed, gone to be a governess to the Harrises. Could not the noble and good Sir Henry Pearce save her from her fate?"

"Be quiet!" he snapped. He could bear most things, but not this! Not to hear Juliet gloating over Miss Evershed's fall through the ranks of society. Juliet raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine, leaning back against his desk in such a way that her dress tightened seductively around her figure. Dispassionately, he observed that it was still good, if a little too thin for his current tastes.

"Dear, dear, have I touched a nerve?" she asked silkily. "Whatever happened? Which of you woke from love's not-so-young dream? Not Miss Evershed, surely. When you introduced us, she reminded me rather of a spaniel, trotting demurely at your heels. So amusing."

His silence provided her answer. Juliet let out a peal of gleeful laughter and set down her glass once more. "Oh, Lord! _She_ threw _you_ over! What a wonderful joke!" She paused and a sly look slipped into her eyes. "Did you make the mistake of telling her about Jane?" she needled softly. "Dear, sweet, _loving_ Jane - but then, as they say, the quiet ones are always the ones to watch."

Harry slammed his hand down on the top of the drinks cabinet. Juliet flinched, her calmly mocking mask slipping momentarily. "Enough!" he snapped and marched over to the door, wrenching it open. "Hill!"

The aged butler appeared, wearing an anxious expression, and cast a look between his employer and Lady Shaw.

"Show this creature out, and ensure that she is never again admitted into this house!" Sir Henry snapped.

Hill bowed his head. "Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir."

Lady Shaw glided forwards, the same self-satisfied smirk still in place on her face. As she reached the door, she turned and rested a hand on his arm. He shook it off immediately. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Harry. I saw Oliver Mace this morning. He sends his compliments, and advises you to call off your terriers. That is, if you don't want to be pulling out your mourning clothes again rather sooner than anticipated." She swept past him and out of the door. Glancing back over her shoulder, she smiled once more.

"Goodbye, Harry."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews for the past couple of chapters. Sorry to all Carter fans - but I assure you that his killers will eventually get their come-uppance! Back with Ruth again next time, I think...<strong>


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Thanks for the great reviews for the last chapter - and now, as promised, a chapter of Ruth governessing...**

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><p>"<em>Cartilia puella sedet in horto.<em> Can either of you tell me what that means?"

Her two eager pupils paused to think for a moment, but it was Miss Eleanor who arrived at an answer first. "'The girl Cartilia is sitting in the garden', Miss Evershed!"

Her governess smiled and nodded. "Very good, Eleanor. Jane, what case is _horto_ taking here? And why?"

"The ablative, after the preposition _in_, meaning 'in', Miss Evershed."

"Excellent." Ruth glanced at the schoolroom clock, noting that it was now three o'clock in the afternoon. "I think that's enough Latin for today, girls. If you tidy your books away quickly, we may have time for a short walk before afternoon tea."

The girls hurried to pack away, chattering excitedly. Their former governess, the aptly named Miss Drear, had, she had discovered, instilled a strict rule of silence in the schoolroom. Their lessons had consisted of hours of listening and copying in silence, with rare occasions when they were called upon to recite some bit of information or read aloud from a dry text. It had been the first thing of which Ruth had rid them. No child could learn in complete silence. Jane and Eleanor Harris, at thirteen and fifteen respectively, were quick and cheerful pupils, eager to come to their lessons now that their governess was so much more aware of their needs. In the short few weeks she had been with them, Miss Evershed had become a friend and confidant, as well as teacher, and much of their time was spent together.

Previously, the girls' curriculum had been severely restricted - etiquette, art, music, embroidery, writing and French, with daily prayers and a weekly dancing lesson. Ruth had reviewed this with sadness, although no surprise, on her first full morning in the Harris household, and had at once determined to make changes. Lady Harris, like many women of her class and position, was not particularly concerned about the education of her daughters beyond what was necessary to launch them successfully first into society and secondly into the house of a suitable husband. She and Lord Harris also had a son, Nicholas, a year younger than Jane, who had followed in his father's footsteps to Eton, and Ruth spent much of her private time in wondering what it would be like if a similar school for girls existed in England - not a mere ladies' seminary, but a true school, where academic ability was prized and rewarded, and where young women were prepared for useful, active lives. Nonetheless, Lady Harris's indifference had been somewhat of a blessing. She had not, thus far, intruded on the schoolroom, and Ruth and the girls had been left to their own devices. Eleanor had reassured Miss Evershed, too, that this was not unusual.

On her second morning, therefore, Ruth had made several drastic changes to the curriculum. The dancing master came every Wednesday for two hours between one and three o'clock and Miss Cardle, an impoverished young woman from the village, came every morning at eleven o'clock for an hour to give, alternately piano and drawing lessons. Other than that, Miss Evershed found that she could arrange her teaching as she wished. She ventured, therefore, to remove writing from the timetable; the girls, she found, both wrote daily in journals and sent letters to cousins of theirs in Taunton. Embroidery went the same way; the girls sewed beautifully, and Miss Evershed felt that it was far more appropriate for such a skill to be relegated to the status of a leisure activity. To replace them she introduced mathematics, history and geography. French and etiquette were retained, of course - Jane was not yet as fluent as her sister, and both girls, perhaps because of the restrictions under which their former governess had placed them, were more lively than even Miss Evershed felt was wise, when they would all too soon be in society. However, Ruth set them work to be completed after their lessons in the daytime, a new experience for them all. The Latin lessons had begun when Eleanor had knocked on Miss Evershed's door one evening, complaining of a problem with her mathematics, and had idly asked what Ruth had been reading. It had been the _Aeneid_, and once the subject matter had been explained to her, Eleanor had expressed a wish to begin learning the tongue that would enable her to one day read it for herself. At first, Ruth had believed that it was a fleeting schoolgirl whim, but after a week, it was clear that this was not the case. The girls had taken to their new lessons with great enthusiasm and it provided at least a little joy to their teacher. Ruth had also been pondering as to whether to introduce her pupils to German.

When the girls were not in the classroom, Ruth took them on walks in the countryside. The Harrises lived on an estate smaller than either Kieley or Middlethorpe, but Miss Drear had never allowed the girls to go beyond its gates, even chaperoned. That was changed immediately - walks through the lovely surrounding woods, and even as far as the nearby village, were added into the timetable every day, as much for the benefit of Miss Evershed as for that of her charges. Later, they would sit together in the small parlour that was situated between Jane and Eleanor's rooms, and talk or read to each other. In the evenings, the young ladies would spend an hour or so in the drawing room with their parents - if Lord and Lady Harris were not otherwise engaged - and Ruth would retreat to her small chambers next to the schoolroom for a precious period of solitude. She wrote to Lady Radford, of course, and Rosalind and Elizabeth too. She read a little, and marked the girls' work.

And most of all, she tried desperately to stop thinking about Sir Henry Pearce.

It was easy to forget him during the day, when her young charges fully occupied her mind and senses, but at night, when she read and wrote by candlelight, he was an ever-present ghost in her mind. All their many conversations played out before her once more. His voice rang in her ears as she read the book of Ovid he had given to her. She saw his face every time she closed her eyes. She had imagined that her work would be oppressive and fatiguing. She had imagined that there would be little joy in it. She had been wrong. When her hours of relaxation were filled thus, it had fast become a relief to occupy herself with something that required her entire attention. It became a relief to fill her ears with the sound of Jane and Eleanor's idle chatter and not have time to close her eyes.

And so Miss Evershed's life went on. The Harrises entertained, of course, but their governess was not welcome at such gatherings. Ruth did not wish to be welcome at them. Her life was easier now she had no need to speak to or hear of people who might remind her of those few, brief months of happiness. This was her life now - and it could indeed be very much worse. Jane and Eleanor were lively, kind, welcoming, and eager to please. Their father, George Harris, was occupied by his books and the running of the estate, and their mother was more concerned with her looking-glass than with either her marriage or her daughters. In many ways, it was a relief to be left to one's own devices in both work and play. In any case, it lessened the sense of degradation that daily choked Ruth. But what other choice did she have? To have remained with Lady Radford would have been unendurable - how _could_ she have borne it, to be so indebted to a woman who was already more a mother to her than anyone else she had ever known? The guilt would have eaten away at her until she could stand it no longer.

But it was still her greatest pleasure to write to her ladyship, and to receive letters in return. Her only anxiety was that Lady Radford was not replying honestly to her inquiries about her health. In correspondence it was exceedingly easy to tell untruths and pretend to higher feelings of happiness and health than one truly felt. Ruth knew this, because she did it herself. Not one word of complaint escaped her in her letters to Elizabeth, or to her godmother. It was only to Rosalind that she felt able to admit the little disappointments of her new circumstances - the distant disdain with which Lady Harris treated her, the way the servants chafed at any small request she made of them, the sense that she was slowly suffocating in such a daily routine as was now her lot; she could rest assured that her oldest friend would not overwhelm her with pity, but would rather write sensibly and firmly. Rosalind was sympathetic, but could never be described as doting. Miss Evershed never dared to ask about Sir Henry; Rosalind never mentioned him. She spoke of London, as the season began again, and of her anxiety that Major North was being worked too hard.

She wrote when Captain Carter was killed and the news was so shocking that Ruth sank back into her little chair and shed several tears over it. Miss Evershed had not been well acquainted with Captain Carter, but from what she knew of him, he had been a kind, open-hearted man and a dear friend to Sir Henry. And his son, an orphan now that both his parents were dead… Would Sir Henry now be responsible for him? Would he accept that responsibility? She could not imagine how he would cope, with a small child, running wild around Middlethorpe. Did young Wesley have a tutor? Would he be sent away to school?

Her hands itched to be doing something. She drew a fresh piece of writing paper towards her, readied her pen, and was halfway through a letter to Middlethorpe when the remembrance of her parting from Sir Henry crashed down around her again. She dropped the pen in disgust, blotting the neat rows she had already penned, and stood up. It was none of her affair. Perhaps if they had married… She closed her eyes. At times like this it was difficult, in spite of everything, to avoid thinking of what power to do good she would have had as mistress at Middlethorpe. The power to influence her husband, and provide a real, loving, permanent home for his godchild and for any other connection of his who asked it - how wonderful that would have been! _And that would have satisfied you?_ the nasty voice in her head asked. _You would have been able to bear the knowledge that he did not love you, for the sake of a large house, wealth, influence?_

She swallowed. She knew not how to answer.


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: It seems that every time I update this story, I have to preface it with profuse apologies for the length of time between updates! So, before you read this shamefully short addition to the corpus, insert much grovelling from yours truly...**

* * *

><p>Graham Pearce stared out blankly over London's grey streets. It was the end of January - cold, wet and altogether miserable. His breath frosted against the glass of the drawing room window as he sighed. They had taken up residence in this house a week ago, their marriage having provided them with access to the money left in trust for Graham by his mother upon her death. When he had first brought his bride here, he had borne her over the threshold in his arms, despite her protests, for the first time feeling like a man of worth. But still…<p>

"Helen, do you ever… have regrets?" he asked quietly.

His wife looked up, startled, from her armchair and set aside her embroidery. "About marrying you?" she asked gently. "Never."

He sighed and returned to her side, kneeling beside her. "But, we are not so very prosperous as I would hope and there is the child to think of." The child that Helen had conceived before they had married, the child that would be brought into this world in only five short months. Her father had disowned her, of course. Mr Worth had called upon them again as soon as they had married, and expressed his displeasure. He had hoped that his daughter would be contrite, apologetic, conciliatory. He had been wrong. Helen had stood before her father and proudly declared her love for her husband - and for the child she was carrying. Graham could remember even now the look of furious disgust on Worth's face.

Helen reached forwards and gripped his hand tightly, bringing it to her lips to kiss. "I would rather live destitute with you, than in plenty with any other man. For richer, for poorer - do you recall?"

"But Fotherton - " he sighed.

His darling shook her head firmly, still looking down at their intertwined hands. "Richard Fotherton is a soulless brute," she replied simply. "I should have been crushed in that house, Graham." A light blush mantled her cheeks. "And once I had… given myself to you, the thought of lying in a bed of duty with him was impossible." There was a pause, and then she murmured, "Do you regret what we have done?"

"Never," he replied warmly, cupping her face with his free hand and raising it so that he could look into her eyes. "I have a beautiful, brave, kind-hearted wife who is carrying my child, and I am determined to give you both a better life than I have had thus far."

She bit her lip. "If your father knew of the child - "

Her husband's mouth tightened noticeably and he looked away. "The last time we spoke my father cast such aspersions on both of us that I cannot forgive him for them."

"What did he say?"

"I won't - it doesn't signify."

She raised her eyebrows and he pursed his lips, displeased. "He believed that you were merely an amusement to me," Graham managed at last. "That I would abandon you once I had - once we had - "

"Once you had seduced me," she supplied quietly.

Graham nodded, flushing with embarrassment. Helen gave a queer little half-smile, and asked archly, "Can you truly say that he was not in some part right? Can you truly say that when my brother introduced us, your first thought was not as to how you might ingratiate yourself into my bed?"

Her husband's mouth dropped open in surprise at her words. "Darling - !"

Helen's lip quivered and she began to laugh. "Your faults are no secret to me, husband," she reminded him. "And I find that I love you all the more for them, as strange as that may sound."

Graham sighed and then began to laugh. "I believe, my dear, that I have been a tremendously bad influence on you." He rested his hands on her shoulders, the laughter dying away to be replaced by a serious expression that his father would not have recognised.

"Helen, never doubt me. Never doubt that I love you as I have never loved before."


End file.
